Words, As Is Well Known, Are The

The Artist In His Calling Of Interpreter Creates Because He Must. He Is So Much Of A Voice That, For Him, Silence Is Like Death

Art Is Long And Life Is Short, And Success Is Very Far Off.

They Were Conquerors, And For That You Want Only Brute Force--nothing To Boast Of, When You Have It, Since Your Strength Is Just An Accident Arising From The Weakness Of Others.

Fiction Is History, Human History, Or It Is Nothing.

I Have A Voice, Too, And For Good Or Evil Mine Is The Speech That Cannot Be Silenced