HOLLYWOOD, Jan. 2— She sat in the lounge of a Beverly Hills hotel, smoking cigarettes, her voice raspy, her wide-set brown eyes narrowing as she spoke.
“I’m 65, I’ll be 66 in January,” Jeanne Moreau said with a shrug and laugh. “What should I do? Shoot myself? I’ve never worried about age. If you’re extremely, painfully frightened of age, it shows. Life doesn’t end at 30. To me age is a number, just a number. Who cares?”
Ms. Moreau took a long drag on her cigarette. “There’s a great line in my new film,” she said. “The line is, ‘I always thought I would die young, but now it’s too late.’ “