I think... I think art, actually, and love have something in common which is that if I tell you that I'm doing art now, you are permitted to smile to yourself and think: fancy pants. If I say, I'm writing a book or I'm writing an article or I'm doing this and I hope it's going to be interesting, or whatever, that's okay, and you can read my thing and then you can say, 'You know what? This is a work of art'. It is a judgement, not an activity in my view. My job is to do what I do as well as I can. When does carpentry become an art? When it's done by Mr Chippendale? When Mr Chippendale sells his work at a very high price? When a critic says it's art? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. The great thing is to do the best work you possibly can. And love, it seems to me again – you may notice that I love my wife, but I would be wise not to put advertisements in the paper about it. There's a lovely line, I don't know why it comes to mind... a film that's directed by Chabrol, about Bluebeard – the same story that Chaplin did in Monsieur Verdoux. And in Chabrol's film, Monsieur Verdoux is eventually, as he was indeed, condemned to death to be guillotined. And on the way to the guillotine in the... in Chabrol's movie, the official in... who's escorting him says to him, 'Now, you know, given that you only have a few minutes left, tell me, did you... did you really kill all those women?' And the line which is written by Françoise Sagan which sticks in my mind is, 'Ça? C'est mon petit bagage'. And how do you do it or what makes Beetle... why do you think Beetle's loved you for 60 years and why have you loved her? 'Ça c'est mon petit bagage'.  Actually, there's nothing in the bagage because I don't know what it says, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. And I'd be right. And if I exposed it, it would perish. So love is like luck. Never assume it's yours, never assume it'll last, just hope it will.