The Artist Who Aims At Perfection In

What Makes Sovereign Ugliness Are Our Conventions.

What Moves Those Of Genius, What Inspires Their Work Is Not New Ideas, But Their Obsession With The Idea That What Has Already Been Said Is Still Not Enough.

One Should Not Be Too Difficult. An Artist Should Not Treat Himself Like An Enemy.

Glory To That Homer Of Painting, To That Father Of Warmth And Enthusiasm... He Really Paints Men.

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.