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: You may be a great painter, but you are morally corrupt. You've contaminated the whole world.
: Who are your friends? Pierre
: Francoise and Genevieve. They're painters. Dora Maar
: What do they paint, besides their finger nails?
: Perhaps she thinks you'll immortalize her. Don't raise her hopes, Picassos may prove to be no more immortal than the skeleton of some extinct bird of prey.
: It's true, I do not have a child. But I think he finds me equally, if not more amusing without one.
: You don't look like someone who lives in Paris.
[then, to Francoise
] Dora Maar
: And you... you look like you've been breathing in the air in Picasso's studio. Peculiar air... sometimes it seems like poison gas... and then you find you cannot breathe in any other. Geneviève
: I assure you that is not the case with Francoise. Dora Marr
: I don't like cats. But when my dog died, he gave me a cat. I still have it. It's called Moumoune. He gave it that name. It's a very vicious cat. Look... He'll leave you when he's ready. Even then, you won't be free of him. After him, without him, there is nothing. After Picasso, only God. And Moumoune... that cat just won't die.