Art Is Science Made Flesh.

I've Always Preferred Mythology To History. History Is Truth That Becomes An Illusion. Mythology Is An Illusion That Becomes Reality.

The Artist Is A Kind Of Prison From Which The Works Of Art Escape.

I Want The Kind Of Readers Who Remain Children At Any Cost. I Can Tell Them At A Glance: Loyalty To That First Enchantment Guards Better Than Any Cosmetic; Than Any Diet, Against The Insults Of Age. But Alas For Such Readers, Who Would Huddle Safe And Sound In The Asylum Of Their Credulous Enchantment As If In The Womb-our Enervating Century Offends Them By Its Chaos, Its Fidgets Of Light And Space, The Host Of Its Excuses For Dividing , For Rending Oneself From Others And From Oneself.

He Who Is Affected By An Insult Is Infected By It.

Lack Of Manners Is The Sign Of A Hero.