Genius is talent provided with ideals. Genius starves while talent wears purple and fine linen. The man of genius of today will infifty years' time be in most cases no more than a man of talent.

There are men whose sense of humour is so ill developed that they still bear a grudge against Copernicus because he dethroned them from the central position in the universe. They feel it a personal affront that they can no longer consider themselves the pivot upon which turns the whole of created things.

Art, unless it leads to right action, is no more than the opium of an intelligentsia.

An art is only great and significant if it is one that all may enjoy. The art of a clique is but a plaything.

There are few things so pleasant as a picnic eaten in perfect comfort.

The artist can within limits make what he likes of his life... It is only the artist, and maybe the criminal, who can make his own.

Art is merely the refuge which the ingenious have invented, when they were supplied with food and women, to escape the tediousness of life.