An Artist Discovers His Genius The Day

To Love A Painting Is To Feel That This Presence Is ... Not An Object But A Voice.

Genius Is Not Perfected, It Is Deepened. It Does Not So Much Interpret The World As Fertilize Itself With It.

No One Can Endure His Own Solitude.

Though Man's Feeling For The Other-worldly Often Has Recourse To Solitude, Solitude Does Not Foster Its Development; Rather, It Is Nourished By Communion, To Which The Church Is More Propitious Than The Cemetery.

The Artist Is Not The Transcriber Of The World, He Is Its Rival.