Popular In Our Time, Unpopular In His.

The New Job Of Art Is To Sit On The Wall And Get More Expensive.

It Is Hard To Think Of Any Work Of Art Of Which One Can Say 'this Saved The Life Of One Jew, One Vietnamese, One Cambodian'. Specific Books, Perhaps; But As Far As One Can Tell, No Paintings Or Sculptures. The Difference Between Us And The Artists Of The 1920's Is That They They Thought Such A Work Of Art Could Be Made. Perhaps It Was A Certain Naivete That Made Them Think So. But It Is Certainly Our Loss That We Cannot.

Works Of Art... Do Not Force Meanings On Their Audience; Meaning Emerges, Adds Up, Unfolds From Their Imagined Centres... Takes One Through The Process Of Discovering Meaning.

One Gets Tired Of The Role Critics Are Supposed To Have In This Culture: It's Like Being The Piano Player In A Whorehouse; You Don't Have Any Control Over The Action Going On Upstairs.

The World's Fair Audience Tended To Think Of The Machine As Unqualifiedly Good, Strong, Stupid And Obedient. They Thought Of It As A Giant Slave, An Untiring Steel Negro, Controlled By Reason In A World Of Infinite Resources.