Good Taste Is The Worst Vice Ever

I May Say That I Think Greed About Poetry Is The Only Permissible Greed - It Is, Indeed, Unavoidable.

My Temper Is Not Spoilt. I Am Absolutely Non-homicidal. Nor Do I Ever Attack Unless I Have Been Attacked First, And Then Heaven Have Mercy Upon The Attacker, Because I Don't! I Just Sharpen My Wits On A Wooden Head As A Cat Sharpens Its Claws On The Wood Legs Of A Table.

All Great Art Contains An Element Of The Irrational.

[history Is] That Terrible Mill In Which Sawdust Rejoins Sawdust.

The Child And The Great Artist -- These Alone Receive The Sensation Fresh As It Was At The Beginning Of The World.