We Do Not Have Too Much Intellect

One Does What One Is; One Becomes What One Does.

Every Day There Comes A Moment When A Person Lays His Hands In His Lap And All His Busyness Collapses Like Ashes. The Work Accomplished Is, From The Soul's Point Of View, Entirely Imaginary.

To Love Something As An Artist ... Means To Be Shaken Not By Its Ultimate Value Or Lack Of Value, But By A Side Of It That Suddenly Opens Up. Where Art Has Value It Shows Things That Few Have Seen. It's Conquering, Not Pacifying.

But How Do I Get To Having To Write A Book?... It Was A Mother Who Bore Me, Not An Inkwell!

You Proclaim That One Should Die For The Highest Virtues, Because You Take It For Granted That Nobody's Been Living For Them, Not Even For A Single Hour.