Everyone Is A Virtuoso On His Own

The Art We Need Is The Art Of Bearing The Unbearable.

We Publish Only To Satisfy Out Craving For Fame; There's No Other Motive Except The Even Baser One Of Making Money.

The Anger And The Brutality Against Everything Can Readily From One Hour To The Next Be Transformed Into Its Opposite.

Our Greatest Pleasure, Surely, Is In Fragments, Just As We Derive The Most Pleasure From Life If We Regard It As A Fragment, Whereas The Whole And The Complete And The Perfect Are Basically Abhorrent.

I Really Only Write About Inner Landscapes And Most People Don't See Them, Because They See Practically Nothing Within, Because They Think That Because It's Inside, It's Dark, And So They Don't See Anything. I Don't Think I've Ever Yet, In Any Of My Books, Described A Landscape. There's Really Nothing Of The Kind In Any Of Them. I Only Ever Write Concepts. And So I'm Always Referring To "mountains" Or "a City" Or "streets." But As To How They Look: I've Never Produced A Description Of A Landscape. That's Never Even Interested Me.