All Still Lifes Are Actually Paintings Of

I Am Not Only Convinced That What I Say Is False, But Also That What One Might Say Against It Is False. Despite This, One Must Begin To Talk About It. In Such A Case The Truth Lies Not In The Middle, But Rather All Around, Like A Sack, Which, With Each New Opinion One Stuffs Into It, Changes Its Form, And Becomes More And More Firm.

Every Day There Comes A Moment When A Person Lays His Hands In His Lap And All His Busyness Collapses Like Ashes. The Work Accomplished Is, From The Soul's Point Of View, Entirely Imaginary.

Life Forms A Surface That Acts As If It Could Not Be Otherwise, But Under Its Skin Things Are Pounding And Pulsing.

Wordsworth's Particular Grace, His Charisma, As Theologians Say, Has Been Granted In Equal Measure To So Very Few Men Since Time Was--to Plato And Who Else? The Crucial Thing Is Never What We Do, But Always What We Do Right After That. What Matters Is Always The Next Step!

To Love Something As An Artist ... Means To Be Shaken Not By Its Ultimate Value Or Lack Of Value, But By A Side Of It That Suddenly Opens Up. Where Art Has Value It Shows Things That Few Have Seen. It's Conquering, Not Pacifying.