I honestly don’t need much money. People love to buy me drinks. Hostesses love to feed me. Famous artists lavish me with expensive artworks, and heiresses do the same with jewels that I promptly lose.
To support myself as a kid, I was a model at art schools around Boston.
Women are really beautiful in their forties, and men seem to come of age around the period of their second wife.
I should be paid to go out. You see, I’m good for business. I class up a joint.
My work is all that I think about because I spent so many years not doing anything. Therefore, work pleases me, which is success in itself.
I hate having my picture taken. Ten years ago, I stopped having a good side.
I had to make my history quick because there would be no future, merely a gossamer world blown about on the zeitgeist, till zeitgeist, the wind of the times, is blasted away by kamikaze, the wind of God.
I don’t have a philosophy in a nutshell; I would go on and on too much.
I want my soldiers – I mean artists – to be young and strong, with tireless energy performing impossible feats of cunning and bravura.
Charles James was a dear friend of mine when I was a little boy – 17, 18. He was mad as a hatter. I had no idea how famous he was.