If you participate in life, you don’t see it clearly: you suffer from it too much or enjoy it too much. The artist, to my way of thinking, is a monstrosity, something outside nature. All the misfortunes Providence inflicts on him come from his stubborness in denying that maxim.

Boredom, that silent spider, was spinning its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.

But an infinity of passions can be contained in a minute, like a crowd in a tiny space.

Do not imagine you can exorcise what oppresses you in life by giving vent to it in art.

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

Abstraction can provide stumbling blocks for people of strange intelligence.

COLD. Healthier than heat.