Everything Is Politics.

The Books And Magazines Streamed In. He Could Buy Them All, They Piled Up Around Him And Even While He Read, The Number Of Those Still To Be Read Disturbed Him. … They Stood In Rows, Weighing Down His Life Like A Possession Which He Did Not Succeed In Subordinating To His Personality.

Everything Is Politics.

It Is Most Certainly A Good Thing That The World Knows Only The Beautiful Opus But Not Its Origins, Not The Conditions Of Its Creation; For If People Knew The Sources Of The Artist's Inspiration, That Knowledge Would Often Confuse Them, Alarm Them, And Thereby Destroy The Effects Of Excellence. Strange Hours! Strangely Enervating Labor! Bizarrely Fertile Intercourse Of The Mind With A Body!

One Must Die To Life In Order To Be Utterly A Creator.

Art Is The Funnel, As It Were, Through Which Spirit Is Poured Into Life.