I blame the newspapers because every day they call our attention to insignificant things, while three or four times in our lives,we read books that contain essential things. Once we feverishly tear the band of paper enclosing our newspapers, things should change and we should find--I do not know--the Pensées by Pascal!

Only imagination and belief can differentiate from the rest certain objects, certain people, and can create an atmosphere.

How paradoxical it is to search reality for the pictures that are stored in one's memory.

We feel in one world, we think and name in another. Between the two we can set up a system of references, but we cannot fill in the gap.

Through art alone are we able to emerge from ourselves, to know what another person sees of a universe which is not the same as our own and of which, without art, the landscapes would remain as unknown to us as those that may exist on the moon.

Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.

What we have not had to decipher, to elucidate by our own efforts, what was clear before we looked at it, is not ours. From ourselves comes only that which we drag forth from the obscurity which lies within us, that which to others is unknown.