The twenty-first century will be spiritual or it will not be.

Every young man's heart is a graveyard in which are inscribed the names of a thousand dead artists but whose only actual denizens are a few mighty, often antagonistic, ghosts.

Always, however brutal an age may actually have been, its style transmits its music only.

In the realm of human destiny, the depth of man's questionings is more important than his answers.

What is Man? A miserable little pile of secrets.

Seldom is a Gothic head more beautiful than when broken.

The truth of a man is first and foremost what he hides.