“I like reality. It tastes like bread.” — Jean Anouilh

Oh, love is real enough; you will find it someday, but it has one archenemy - and that is life.

Inspiration is a farce that poets have invented to give themselves importance.

Life is very nice, but it lacks form. It's the aim of art to give it some.

Have you noticed that life, with murders and catastrophes and fabulous inheritances, happens almost exclusively in newspapers?