Catastrophes come when some dominant institution, swollen like a soap-bubble and still standing without foundations, suddenly crumbles at the touch of what may seem a word or idea, but is really some stronger material source.

... so in love the heart surrenders itself entirely to the one being that has known how to touch it. That being is not selected; it is recognised and obeyed.

All language is rhetorical, and even the senses are poets.

The man who would emancipate art from discipline and reason is trying to elude rationality, not merely in art, but in all existence.

To condemn spontaneous and delightful occupations because they are useless for self-preservation shows an uncritical prizing of life irrespective of its content.

An artist may visit a museum but only a pedant can live there.

It is wisdom to believe the heart.