There Were Three Of Us; Witkiewicz, Bruno

To Me, Art Almost Always Speaks More Forcefully When It Appears In An Imperfect, Accidental, And Fragmentary Way, Somehow Just Signaling Its Presence, Allowing One To Feel It Through The Ineptitude Of The Interpretation. I Prefer The Chopin That Reaches Me In The Street From An Open Window To The Chopin Served In Great Style From The Concert Stage.

To Contradict, Even In Little Matters, Is The Supreme Necessity Of Art Today.

Man Is Profoundly Dependent On The Reflection Of Himself In Another Man's Soul, Be It Even The Soul Of An Idiot.

A Brilliant Liar; He Has Total Recall.

We Say 'forest' But This Word Is Made Of The Unknown, The Unfamiliar, The Unencompassed. The Earth. Clods Of Dirt. Pebbles. On A Clear Day You Rest Among Ordinary, Everyday Things That Have Been Familiar To You Since Childhood, Grass, Bushes, A Dog (or A Cat), A Chair, But That Changes When You Realize That Every Object Is An Enormous Army, An Inexhaustible Swarm.