Art is an attempt to understand, yielding pleasure in the attempt whether or not we understand.

Man is the only animal who enjoys the consolation of believing in a next life; all other animals enjoy the consolation of not worrying about it.

You can be happy with someone who likes you despite your faults - until you meet someone who likes your faults.

The artist's talent sits uneasy as an object of public acclaim, having been so long an object of private despair.

In the end there doesn't have to be anyone who understands you. There just has to be someone who wants to.

Count no day lost in which you waited your turn, took only your share and sought advantage over no one.

If you haven't time to respond to a tug at your pants leg, your schedule is too crowded.