“Orson Welles is a kind of giant with the look of a child, a tree filled with birds and shadow, a dog that has broken its chain and lies down in the flower beds, an active idler, a wise madman, an island surrounded by people, a pupil asleep in class, a strategist who pretends to be drunk when he wants to be left in peace. He knows better than anyone how to use the apparent nonchalance of true strength to give an impression of drifting, and advances with a half-open eye. The derelict manner he sometimes affects, like some dozing bear, shields him from the cold, restless whirl of the film world. A method that made him pack his bags, leave Hollywood and allow himself to be drawn toward other company and other prospects.” — Jean Cocteau