An artist is a person who lives in the triangle which remains after the angle which we may call common sense has been removed from this four-cornered world.

I am a cat. As yet I have no name

On a charcoal kiln a vine keeps climbing, while being burned to death.

An artist is a person who lives in the triangle which remains after the angle which we may call common sense has been removed from this four-cornered world.

The artist, even when he imitates nature, always feels himself to be not a slave but a demigod.

From this observed behavior a major psychological truth about this race of forked destroyers may be deduced: that, just as nature abhors a vacuum, "mankind abhors equality."

I believe that words uttered in passion contain a greater living truth than do those words which express thoughts rationally conceived. It is blood that moves the body. Words are not meant to stir the air only: they are capable of moving greater things.