... There Is No Such Thing As

We Sometimes Have A Flash Of Understanding That Amounts To The Insight Of Genius, And Yet It Slowly Withers, Even In Our Hands - Like A Flower. The Form Remains, But The Colours And The Fragrance Are Gone.

The Thought Is Not Something That Observes An Inner Event, But, Rather It Is This Inner Event Itself. We Do Not Reflect On Something, But, Rather, Something Thinks Itself In Us.

If There Is A Sense Of Reality, There Must Also Be A Sense Of Possibility.

To Love Something As An Artist ... Means To Be Shaken Not By Its Ultimate Value Or Lack Of Value, But By A Side Of It That Suddenly Opens Up. Where Art Has Value It Shows Things That Few Have Seen. It's Conquering, Not Pacifying.

... There Is A Particular Propensity In The World For People, Wherever They Appear In Great Numbers, To Permit Themselves Collectively Everything That Would Be Forbidden Them Individually.