When you draw something it lives and when you photograph it it dies

Thomas Beecham was a pompous little band-master who stood against everything creative in the art of his time.

The battle was over. Our casualties were some thirteen thousand killed--thirteen thousand minds, memories, loves, sensations, worlds, universes--because the human mind is more a universe than the universe itself--and all for a few hundred yards of useless mud.

...all cynicism masks a failure to cope.

The most important questions in life can never be answered by anyone except oneself.

It was too exactly as imagined to be true. But I felt as gladly and expectantly disorientated, as happily and alertly alone, as Alice in Wonderland.

My hatred of crowds, the obviousness of crowds, of anything en masse. Is this why I like little-known books? A general desire to escape the main world.