Realism, in so far as the word means reality to life, is always bad art.

You won’t arrive. It is an endless search.

The machines men are so intent on making have carried them very far from the old sweet things.

You must try to forget all you have learned,” said the old man. “You must begin to dream. From this time on you must shut your ears to the roaring of the voices.

I go about looking at horses and cattle. They eat grass, make love, work when they have to, bear their young. I am sick with envy of them.

What's wrong with this egotism? If a man doesn't delight in himself and the force in him and feel that he and it are wonders, how is all life to become important to him?

Work accomplished means little. It is in the past. What we all want is the glorious and living present.