It Is Not I Who Become Addicted,

I Shall Never Forget What I Saw At The Museum Of Modern Art: In A Spotless Schoolroom, Fifty Little Girls Painting Away At Tables Covered With Brushes, Pots, Tubes, Bowls, Staring Into Space And Sticking Out Their Tongues Like The Clever Animals That Ring A Bell, Tongues Lolling And Eyes Vague. Teachers Supervise These Young Creators Of Abstract Art And Slap Their Wrists If What They Paint Represents Something And Dangerously Inclines Toward Realism. The Mothers - Still At The Picasso Stage - Are Not Admitted.

A Film Is A Petrified Fountain Of Thought.

The Poet Never Asks For Admiration; He Wants To Be Believed.

Fight Any Instinct To Be Humorless, For Humorlessness Is The Worst Of All Absurdities.

The Cinema Is Death At Work.