Great artists have no country.

As all the perfumes of the vanished day Rise from the earth still moistened with the dew So from my chastened soul beneath thy ray Old love is born anew.

Je suis venu trop tard dans un monde trop vieux. (I have come too late into a world too old.)

Je ne sais ou va mon chemin, mais je marche mieux quand ma main serre la tienne. ('A mon frere revenant d'Italie', mars 1844)

Je suis un galerien de plume et d'encre.

And me I'm in my bedroom drawing in my notebook Because my hand thinks I'm an artist But my heart knows I'm a poet It's just words they mean so little to me.

I've always been skeptical of people who say they lose themselves in a part. Someone once came up to Spencer Tracy and asked, 'Aren't you tired of always playi…