Youth never moves me. I seldom see anything very beautiful in a young face. I do, though -
- in the downward curve of Maugham’s lips, in Isak Dinesen’s hands. So much has been
written there, there is so much to be read, if one could only read. I feel most of the people
in my book, Observations, are earthly saints. Because they are obsessed, obsessed with
work of one sort or another. To dance, to be beautiful, tell stories, solve riddles, perform in
the street. Zavattini’s mouth and Escudero’s eyes, the smile of Marie-Louise Bousquet: they
are sermons on bravado.