The Cult Of Art Gives Pride; One

[the Artist] Is Like A Pump; He Has Inside Him A Great Pipe That Reaches Down Into The Entrails Of Things, The Deepest Layers. He Sucks Up What Was Lying There Below, Dim And Unnoticed, And Brings It In Great Jets To The Sunlight.

We Should Not Touch Our Idols: Their Gilding Will Remain On Our Hands.

What Wretched Poverty Of Language! To Compare Stars To Diamonds!

Of All The Icy Blasts That Blow On Love, A Request For Money Is The Most Chilling.

By Working One Can Bend Fortune. She Is Fond Of Crafty Men.