The final revelation is that Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art.

If art is to have a special train, the critic must keep some seats reserved on it.

To open up the new, to look back on the old may bring forth like discoveries in the practice of art.

The creation of a work of art, like an act of love, is our one small yes at the center of a vast no.

Art is not necessary at all. All that is necessary to make this world a better place to live in is to love-to love as Christ loved, as Buddha loved.

Art and family life are reconcilable if it's worth it-which is to say, if you act out of conviction and not just convention or a sense of obligation.

Once form has been smashed, it has been smashed for good, and once a forbidden subject has been released, it has been released for good.

Can art be completely invented? It's a matter of shaping reality with the help of imagination.

This is the artist, then-life's hungry man, the glutton of eternity, beauty's miser, glory's slave.

The artist, even when he imitates nature, always feels himself to be not a slave but a demigod.

To be a friend of the weak-that is the artist's point of departure as well as his ultimate goal.

Art, when it is forgetful of nature, degrades itself. Degraded art is, I feel, like the expressionless face of a lovely princess born of a noble family.

In order to find reality, each must search for his own universe, look for the details that contribute to this reality7 that one feels under the surface of things. To be an artist means to search, to find and look at these realities. To be an artist means never to look away.

The artist's imagination may wander far from nature. But as long as it is a living, moving power in his brain, isn't it just as real as any other natural phenomenon? The artist justifies his existence only when he can transform his imagination into truth.

A work of art has an author and yet, when it is perfect, it has something which is anonymous about it.

I feel that America is essentially against the artist, that the enemy of America is the artist, because he stands for individuality and creativeness, and that's un-American somehow.

In art, as in love, instinct is enough.

No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did he would cease to be an artist.

The moment you cheat for the sake of beauty, you know you're an artist.

Art is the only thing that can go mattering once as it has stopped hurting.