And my poor fool is hanged. No, no life. / Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, / And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more. / Never, never, never. Pray you, undo / This button. Thank you, sir. O, O, O, O!

Only fools imply compliments. The wise man comes right out with it, point-blank. Imply criticism--unless the criticized isn't within earshot.

But you see, everyone has a part to play. In this theater, I’m a daughter and a sister and a mother—never an artist. I could be, I don’t know, Luc Tuymans, and it would mean nothing to them. They allow no room for anything but my duty.

Written By Claire Messud

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