Inability, human incapacity, is the only boundary to an art.

The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one's toes on the gravestones.

The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.

Oh, the fools, like a lot of good little schoolboys, scared to death of anything they've been taught is wrong!

The word realist means nothing to me, because I would subordinate reality to temperament. Give me what is true and I applaud; but give me what is individual and alive and I applaud even more.

Respectable people... What bastards!

I do not despair in the least of ultimate triumph. I repeat it with intense conviction.