There is for many a poverty of play.

It is a joy to be hidden, and disaster not to be found.

It's a poor thing to be sane!

It is in playing, and perhaps only in playing, that the child is free to be creative.

We fight to exist. Personally, I am not ashamed of fighting to exist. We are doing no very extraordinary thing to fight simply because we do not wish to be enslaved or exterminated.

Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.

However, it can't be helped; mothers, if they do their job properly, are the representatives of the hard, demanding world and it is they who gradually introduce reality which is so often the enemy of impulse. There is anger with mother and hatred is somewhere even when there is absolutely no doubt of love that is mixed with adoration.