Every true artist feels that he is touching transcendental truths; that his images are shadows of things seen through the veil.

By a curious confusion, many modern critics have passed from the proposition that a masterpiece may be unpopular to the other proposition that unless it is unpopular it cannot be a masterpiece.

This is the age in which thin and theoretic minorities can cover and conquer unconscious and untheoretic majorities.

Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere.

If seeds in the black earth can turn into such beautiful roses, what might not the heart of man become in its long journey toward the stars?

The eagle has no liberty; he only has loneliness.

Individually, men may present a more or less rational appearance, eating, sleeping, and scheming. But humanity a a whole is changeful, mystical, fickle, delightful. Men are men, but Man is a woman.