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The Monster Of Advertisement...is A Sort Of Octopus With Innumerable Tentacles. It Throws Out To Right And Left, In Front And Behind, Its Clammy Arms, And Gathers In, Through Its Thousand Little Suckers, All The Gossip And Slander And Praise Afloat.

-Sarah Bernhardt

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The Monster Of Advertisement...is

Sarah Bernhardt

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The Monster Of Advertisement...is A Sort Of Octopus With Innumerable Tentacles. It Throws Out To Right And Left, In Front And Behind, Its Clammy Arms, And Gathers In, Through Its Thousand Little Suckers, All The Gossip And Slander And Praise Afloat.

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Oscar Wilde: 'do You Mind If I Smoke?' Sarah Bernhardt: 'i Don't Care If You Burn.'

[when Asked At Age 79 Why Her Paris Apartment Was Located Up Many Flights Of Stairs At The Top Of The Building:] It's The Only Way I Can Still Make The Hearts Of Men Beat Faster.

Each Action Of The Actor On The Stage Should Be The Visible Concomitant Of His Thoughts.

It Is By Spending Oneself That One Becomes Rich.

Greatest Wealth

We Ought To Hate Very Rarely, As It Is Too Fatiguing; Remain Indifferent To A Great Deal, Forgive Often And Never Forget.

If I Have A Foreign Accent—which I Much Regret—it Is Cosmopolitan, But Not Teutonic. I Am A Daughter Of The Great Jewish Race, And My Somewhat Uncultivated Language Is The Outcome Of Our Enforced Wanderings.

I Do Love Cricket - It's So Very English.

One Should Hate Very Little, Because It's Extremely Fatiguing. One Should Despise Much, Forgive Often And Never Forget. Pardon Does Not Bring With It Forgetfulness; At Least Not For Me.

A Defective Voice Will Always Preclude An Artist From Achieving The Complete Development Of His Art, However Intelligent He May Be.... The Voice Is An Instrument Which The Artist Must Learn To Use With Suppleness And Sureness, As If It Were A Limb.

The Artist's Personality Must Be Left In His Dressing-room; His Soul Must Be Denuded Of Its Own Sensations And Clothed With The Base Or Noble Qualities He Is Called Upon To Exhibit.... [he] Must Leave Behind Him The Cares And Vexations Of Life, Throw Aside His Personality For Several Hours, And Move In The Dream Of Another Life, Forgetting Everything.

We Must Live For The Few Who Know And Appreciate Us, Who Judge And Absolve Us, And For Whom We Have The Same Affection And Indulgence. The Rest I Look Upon As A Mere Crowd, Lively Or Sad, Loyal Or Corrupt, From Whom There Is Nothing To Be Expected But Fleeting Emotions, Either Pleasant Or Unpleasant, Which Leave No Trace Behind Them.

Energy Creates Energy. It Is By Spending Myself That I Become Rich.

Slow Down? Rest? With All Eternity Before Me?

The Theatre Is The Involuntary Reflex Of The Ideas Of The Crowd.

Art Is Not About Something, Art Is Something

New Ideas Come Into This World Somewhat Like Falling Meteors, With A Flash And An Explosion, And Perhaps Somebody's Castle-roof Perforated.

... Actors Of The First Water Are Not More Plentiful Than Playwrights Of Genius.

I Refuse The Title Of Artist To Those Who Owe Their Reputations To A Physical Deformity. I Regard Them As Buffoons.

Although All New Ideas Are Born In France, They Are Not Readily Adopted There. It Seems That They Must First Commence To Prosper In A Foreign Country.

He Who Is Incapable Of Feeling Strong Passions, Of Being Shaken By Anger, Of Living In Every Sense Of The Word, Will Never Be A Good Actor.

The Actor Is Too Prone To Exaggerate His Powers; He Wants To Play Hamlet When His Appearance Is More Suitable To King Lear.

Those Who Know The Joys And Miseries Of Celebrities When They Have Passed The Age Of Forty Know How To Defend Themselves.

The Monster Of Advertisement...is A Sort Of Octopus With Innumerable Tentacles. It Throws Out To Right And Left, In Front And Behind, Its Clammy Arms, And Gathers In, Through Its Thousand Little Suckers, All The Gossip And Slander And Praise Afloat.

For The Theatre One Needs Long Arms... An Artiste With Short Arms Can Never Make A Fine Gesture.

I Adore Chicago. It Is The Pulse Of America.

Alas, We Are The Victims Of Advertisement. Those Who Taste The Joys And Sorrows Of Fame When They Have Passed Forty, Know How To Look After Themselves. They Know What Is Concealed Beneath The Flowers, And What The Gossip, The Calumnies, And The Praise Are Worth. But As For Those Who Win Fame When They Are Twenty, They Know Nothing, And Are Caught Up In The Whirlpool.

You Must Have This Charm To Reach The Pinnacle. It Is Made Of Everything And Of Nothing, The Striving Will, The Look, The Walk, The Proportions Of The Body, The Sound Of The Voice, The Ease Of The Gestures. It Is Not At All Necessary To Be Handsome Or To Be Pretty; All That Is Needful Is Charm.

Legend Remains Victorious In Spite Of History.

I Have Often Been Asked Why I Am So Fond Of Playing Male Parts. As A Matter Of Fact, It Is Not Male Parts, But Male Brains That I Prefer.

The Dramatic Art Would Appear To Be Rather A Feminine Art; It Contains In Itself All The Artifices Which Belong To The Province Ofwoman: The Desire To Please, Facility To Express Emotions And Hide Defects, And The Faculty Of Assimilation Which Is The Real Essence Of Woman.

What Would Life Be Without Art? Science Prolongs Life. To Consist Of What-eating, Drinking, And Sleeping? What Is The Good Of Living Longer If It Is Only A Matter Of Satisfying The Requirements That Sustain Life? All This Is Nothing Without The Charm Of Art.

Me Pray? Never! I'm An Atheist.

The Truth, The Absolute Truth, Is That The Chief Beauty For The Theatre Consists In Fine Bodily Proportions.

Your Words Are My Food, Your Breath My Wine. You Are Everything To Me.

Permanent Success Cannot Be Achieved Except By Incessant Intellectual Labour, Always Inspired By The Ideal.

Congratulations

I Have, Thanks To My Travels, Added To My Stock All The Superstitions Of Other Countries. I Know Them All Now, And In Any Critical Moment Of My Life, They All Rise Up In Armed Legions For Or Against Me.

Critical Moments

What Matters Poverty? What Matters Anything To Him Who Is Enamoured Of Our Art? Does He Not Carry In Himself Every Joy And Every Beauty?

To Be A Good Actor... It Is Necessary To Have A Firmly Tempered Soul, To Be Surprised At Nothing, To Resume Each Minute The Laborious Task That Has Barely Just Been Finished.

Once The Curtain Is Raised, The Actor Is Ceases To Belong To Himself. He Belongs To His Character, To His Author, To His Public. He Must Do The Impossible To Identify Himself With The First, Not To Betray The Second, And Not To Disappoint The Third.

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