The true painter strives to paint what can only be seen through his world.

Even the West has known the architecture of empty space, whose object, for thousands of years, has been less to construct divine houses, than to create sacred places, to seize upon mystery and to immerse man in it-whether by raising the cyclopean pedestal that surrounds him with stars, or by hollowing out the sanctuary that wraps him in haunted night.

The thrill of creation which we experience which we experience when we see a masterpiece is not unlike the feeling of the artist who created it; such a work is a fragment of the world which he has annexed and which belongs to him alone.

He who has dreamed for long resembles his dream.

Every creation is, at its root, the struggle between potential form and imitated form.

There is always a need for intoxication: China has opium, Islam has hashish, the West has woman.

An art book is a museum without walls.