One may do whate'er one likes In Art: the only thing is, to make sure That one does like it.

What critics often ask for is the impossible, though this may be a salutary means of extending the borders of art.

Every man's work, whether it be literature or music or pictures or architecture or anything else, is always a portrait of himself, and the more he tries to conceal himself the more clearly will his character appear in spite of him.

The youth of an art is, like the youth of anything else, its most interesting period.

An artist conscientiously moves in a direction which for some good reason he takes, putting one work in front of the other with the hope he'll arrive before death overtakes him.

After all, perhaps the greatness of art lies in the perpetual tension between beauty and pain, the love of men and the madness of creation, unbearable solitude and the exhausting crowd, rejection and consent.

I know with certainty that a man's work is nothing but the long journey to recover, through the detours of art, the two or three simple and great images which first gained access to his heart.

One who desires nothing, hopes for nothing, and fears nothing cannot be an artist.

The dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world. In this long vigil he often has to vary his methods of stimulation; but in this long vigil he is also himself striving against a continual tendency to sleep.

An artist carries on throughout his life a mysterious, uninterrupted conversation with his public.