Whatever the heart desires, it purchases at the cost of soul
Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work.
Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow.
It is not peace we seek but meaning.
Everyone loathes his own country and countrymen if he is any sort of artist.
Truth is a matter of direct apprehension-you can't climb a ladder of mental concepts to it.