The history of an art is the history of masterwork, not of failures, or mediocrity.

The flavors of the peach and the apricot are not lost from generation to generation. Neither are they transmitted by book learning.

I once saw a small child go to an electric light switch as say, Mamma, can I open the light? She was using the age-old language of exploration, the language of art.

When words cease to cling close to things, kingdoms fall, empires wane and diminish.

There are few things more difficult than to appraise the work of a man suddenly dead in his youth; to disentangle promise from achievement; to save him from that sentimentalizing which confuses the tragedy of the interruption with the merit of the work actually performed.

I think an alliance with Stalin's Russia is rotten.

I did not enter into silence. Silence captured me.