The Critic Should Describe, And Not Prescribe.

Describe A Circle, Stroke Its Back And It Turns Vicious.

Shakespeare Was The Great One Before Us. His Place Was Between God And Despair.

I Have No Other Pictures Of The World Apart From Those Which Express Evanescence, And Callousness, Vanity And Anger, Emptiness, Orhideous Useless Hate. Everything Has Merely Confirmed What I Had Seen And Understood In My Childhood: Futile And Sordid Fits Of Rage, Cries Suddenly Blanketed By The Silence, Shadows Swallowed Up For Ever By The Night.

Why Was I Born, If It Wasn't Forever?

Every Work Of Art (unless It Is A Psuedo-intellectualist Work, A Work Already Comprised In Some Ideology That It Merely Illustrates, As With Brecht) Is Outside Ideology, Is Not Reducible To Ideology. Ideology Circumscribes Without Penetrating It. The Absence Of Ideology In A Work Does Not Mean An Absence Of Ideas; On The Contrary It Fertilizes Them.