For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life; in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential - the imagination.

You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect.

Truth is a matter of direct apprehension-you can't climb a ladder of mental concepts to it.

Everything really desirable has come about because of, or in spite of, wine!

The artist's work constitutes the only satisfactory relationship he can have with his fellow men since he seeks his real friends among the dead and the unborn.

A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water.

Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work.