... The Genius Never Makes Anything New,

I Am Not Only Convinced That What I Say Is False, But Also That What One Might Say Against It Is False. Despite This, One Must Begin To Talk About It. In Such A Case The Truth Lies Not In The Middle, But Rather All Around, Like A Sack, Which, With Each New Opinion One Stuffs Into It, Changes Its Form, And Becomes More And More Firm.

What Is Perceptible To One’s Mistrust Is The Cut-and-dried Way That Life Is Divided Up And The Ready-made Form It Assumes, The Ever-recurring Sameness Of It, The Pre-formations Passed Down By Generation After Generation, The Ready-made Language Not Only Of The Tongue But Also Of The Sensations And The Feelings.

For Only Fools, Fanatics, And Mental Cases Can Stand Living At The Highest Pitch Of Soul; A Sane Person Must Be Content With Declaring That Life Would Not Be Worth Living Without A Spark Of That Mysterious Fire.

Is Not Art A Tool We Employ To Peel The Kitsch Off Life? Layer By Layer Art Strips Life Bare. The More Abstract It Gets, The More Transparent The Air Is. Can It Be That The Farther It Is Removed From Life, The Clearer Art Becomes?

We Sometimes Have A Flash Of Understanding That Amounts To The Insight Of Genius, And Yet It Slowly Withers, Even In Our Hands - Like A Flower. The Form Remains, But The Colours And The Fragrance Are Gone.