He had been standing still; for an artist, one of the more painful forms of death.
After all, the world is still great.
There are no faster or firmer friendships than those formed between people who love the same books.
He who loves lives, he who lives works, and he who works has bread.
One should not become an artist because he can, but because he must. It is only for those who would be miserable without it.
An artist without ideas is a mendicant; barren, he goes begging among the hours.