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

Loneliness is the price we have to pay for being born in this modern age, so full of freedom, independence, and our own egotistical selves.

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.

I am a cat. As yet I have no name

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

Some say that life has no form, that it is extremely diffuse. I think I can agree with them. ... A life without conclusions is painful.