In Art, We Are The

The Artist Is Not The Transcriber Of The World, He Is Its Rival.

Every Young Man's Heart Is A Graveyard In Which Are Inscribed The Names Of A Thousand Dead Artists But Whose Only Actual Denizens Are A Few Mighty, Often Antagonistic, Ghosts.

The Truth About A Man Lies First And Foremost In What He Hides.

The Thrill Of Creation Which We Experience Which We Experience When We See A Masterpiece Is Not Unlike The Feeling Of The Artist Who Created It; Such A Work Is A Fragment Of The World Which He Has Annexed And Which Belongs To Him Alone.

One Cannot Create An Art That Speaks To Men When One Has Nothing To Say.