The extreme limit of wisdom, that's what the public calls madness.
Art is science made flesh.
The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication: that is why so many bad artists are unable to give it up.
The speed of a runaway horse counts for nothing.
I feel myself inhabited by a force or being -- very little known to me. It gives the orders; I follow.
At all costs the true world of childhood must prevail, must be restored; that world whose momentous, heroic, mysterious quality is fed on airy nothings, whose substance is so ill-fitted to withstand the brutal touch of adult inquisition.