But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
I expect I shall have to die beyond my means.
Art is the only serious thing in the world. And the artist is the only person who is never serious.
I don't want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there.
I forgot that every little action of the common day makes or unmakes character, and that therefore what one has done in the secret chamber one has some day to cry aloud on the house-tops.