The Poetic Act Consists Of Suddenly Seeing

Paint, Not The Thing But The Effect Which It Produces.

As For Me, Poetry Takes The Place Of Love, Because It Is Enamored Of Itself, And Because This Self-lust Has A Delightful Dying Fall In My Soul.

Paintings Are Painted With Paint, Not With Ideas.

The Reproach That Superficial People Formulate Against Manet, That Whereas Once He Painted Ugliness, Now He Paints Vulgarity, Falls Harmlessly To The Ground, When We Recognize The Fact That He Paints The Truth.

To Define Is To Kill. To Suggest Is To Create.