It is more than likely that the brain itself is, in origin and development, only a sort of great clot of genital fluid held in suspense or reserved. This hypothesis would explain the enormous content of the brain as a maker or presenter of images.

What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage

'Tis not need we know our every thought Or see the work shop where each mask is wrought Wherefrom we view the world of box and pit, Careless of wear, just so the mask shall fit And serve our jape's turn for a night or two.

'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!

The artist is always beginning. Any work of art which is not a beginning, an invention, a discovery is of little worth.

I guess the definition of a lunatic is a man surrounded by them.

Consider the way of the scientists rather than the way of an advertising agent for a new soap.