Concern for morality makes every work of the imagination false and stupid.

Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.

It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return.

The better a work is, the more it attracts criticism; it is like the fleas who rush to jump on white linens.

The citadel of Machaerus rose east of the Dead Sea on a basalt Peak shaped like a cone, girdled by four deep valleys; two about its sides, one in front, and the fourth behind.

Caught up in life, you see it badly. You suffer from it or enjoy it too much. The artist, in my opinion, is a monstrosity, something outside of nature.

My foregrounds are imaginary, my backgrounds real.