The cold stream of visual impressions failed him now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china walls unrecorded.

There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.

The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.

Habits and customs are a convenience devised for the support of timid natures who dare not allow their souls free play.

All extremes are dangerous.

I will not be "famous," "great." I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.

It was a silly, silly dream, being unhappy.