Since these mysteries exceed my grasp, I shall pretend to have organized them.
The artist is a kind of prison from which the works of art escape.
Not only should you not accept a prize. You should not try to deserve one either.
Take a commonplace, clean it and polish it, light it so that it produces the same effect of youth and freshness and originality and spontaneity as it did originally, and you have done a poet's job. The rest is literature.
Art is not a pastime but a priesthood.
We must believe in luck. For how else can we explain the success of those we don't like?