Nourish Yourself With Grand And Austere Ideas

The True Wisdom Of The Philosopher Ought To Insist In Enjoying Everything. Yet We Apply Ourselves To Dissecting And Destroying Everything That Is Good In Itself, That Has Virtue, Albeit The Virtue There Is In Mere Illusions. Nature Gives Us This Life Like A Toy To A Weak Child. We Want To See How It All Works; We Break Everything. There Remains In Our Hands, And Before Our Eyes, Stupid And Opened Too Late, The Sterile Wreckage, Fragments That Will Not Again Make A Whole. The Good Is So Simple.

We Should Not Allow Ourselves To Believe That Writers Like Poe Have More Imagination Than Those Who Are Content With Describing Things As They Really Are. It Is Surely Easier To Invent Striking Situations In This Way Than To Tread The Beaten Track Which Intelligent Minds Have Followed Throughout The Centuries.

God Is That Inner Presence Which Makes Us Admire The Beautiful And Consoles Us For Not Sharing The Happiness Of The Wicked.

One Never Paints Violently Enough.

Perhaps The Sketch Of A Work Is So Pleasing Because Everyone Can Finish It As He Chooses.