His mind was like a soup dish, wide and shallow; it could hold a small amount of nearly anything, but the slightest jarring spilled the soup into somebody's lap
The maximum value of art is that it allows the artist to express himself.
He had always loved God. In his darkest hours he cried out, "God did not create us to abandon us.
Each of us has his own alphabet with which to create poetry.
Being mad is even pleasant. But only a madman understands that.
Nature always resists the artist at the beginning.