For the artist to attach himself to his work, or identify himself with it, is suicidal.

The world is two thirds spaghetti and meatballs, one third syphilitic chancre.

Everything was for tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. The present was only a bridge and on this bridge they are still groaning, as the world groans, and not one idiot ever thinks of blowing up the bridge.

When spring comes to Paris the humblest mortal alive must feel that he dwells in paradise.

We have been educated to such a fine - or dull - point that we are incapable of enjoying something new, something different, until we are first told what it's all about. We don't trust our five senses; we rely on our critics and educators, all of whom are failures in the realm of creation. In short, the blind lead the blind. It's the democratic way.

Remorse is impotence; it will sin again. Only repentance is strong - it can end everything.

The full and joyful acceptance of the worst in oneself may be the only sure way of transforming it.