It is the glory and good of Art That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth - to mouths like mine, at least.

Thou, sun, art half as happy as we.

"Since art is merely and ultimately self-expressive, we conclude that the fullest art, the most individual, uninfluenced, unrepressed, uninhibited expression of art is true expression and the true art."

Thou art my father, thou my author, thou my being gav'st me; whom should I obey but thee, whom follow?

Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.

Brothers in Art: a friendship so complete

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.

In life, as in art, talking vitiates doing.

I think that at the bottom of all art lies the impulse to preserve.

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.

And trade is art, and art's philosophy, In Paris.

I think of thee!-my thoughts do twine and bud About thee, as wild vines, about a tree... Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood I will not have my thoughts instead of thee Who art dearer, better!

We cannot reason ourselves out of our basic irrationality. All we can do is learn the art of being irrational in a reasonable way.

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.

All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good.

The excellence of every Art is its intensity.

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.

The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate.

I can't bear art that you can walk round and admire. A book should be either a bandit or a rebel or a man in the crowd.

Oh literature, oh the glorious Art, how it preys upon the marrow in our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us, and chucks us aside. Alas!

Since obscenity is the truth of our passion today, it is the only stuff of art - or almost the only stuff.

The true artist doesn't substitute immorality for morality. On the contrary, he always substitutes a finer morality for a grosser one.