my nights are more beautiful than your days (Andrzej Zulawski, 1989)
"This little man, I can’t really use him. He always needs something new to amuse him. Paying for love, a slave to perversion. He gets off in his armchair and thinks he knows passion. He smells, like porno, has no wife. I should give him my skin as a balm for his sorry excuse for a life. This man has the power to kill the artist. The artist must bow down, not go too far. This man can do everything, wreak havoc. The enlightening child must be corrupted, the pathetic spirit must run wild. We must flatter fate, raise praise as directed, not hate. Sir, please excuse me. You were chosen from many. There are others here far worse than you. And others who are honest, kind, sentimental and sweet, the kind of people I’m touched to meet. They think that life is more than just lies. And some are innocent. Can we trade words for innocence?"