You don’t make art out of good intentions.

The public wants work which flatters its illusions.

If you participate in life, you don’t see it clearly: you suffer from it too much or enjoy it too much. The artist, to my way of thinking, is a monstrosity, something outside nature. All the misfortunes Providence inflicts on him come from his stubborness in denying that maxim.

The artist must manage to make posterity believe that he never existed.

On certain occasions art can shake very ordinary spirits, and whole worlds can be revealed by its clumsiest interpreters.

The artist, to my way of thinking, is a monstrosity, something outside nature.