Great Art Picks Up Where Nature Ends.

Art Seems To Me To Be Above All A State Of Soul.

The Fingers Must Be Educated, The Thumb Is Born Knowing.

The Stars Were My Best Friends. The Air Was Full Of Legends And Phantoms, Full Of Mythical And Fair-tale Creatures, Which Suddenly Flew Away Over The Roof, So That One Was At One With The Firmament.

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.

Art Is Foremost A State Of Mind, And Only Secondarily A Problem Of Form.