Art

I paint my own reality.

It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant.

The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

A portrait of the artist as a young man.

Whatsoever he [Shakespeare] penned, he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been ‘Would he had blotted a thousand’.

Donne, for not keeping of accent, deserved hanging … Shakespeare wanted art.

Soul of the Age!

Such sweet neglect more taketh me,

They are forced plants, raised in a hot-bed; and they are poor plants; they are but cucumbers after all.

Worth seeing, yes; but not worth going to see.

An exotic and irrational entertainment, which has been always combated, and always has prevailed.

We work in the dark—we do what we can—we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.

Etiam disiecti membra poetae.

Exegi monumentum aere perennius.

Ut pictura poesis.

By art is created that great Leviathan, called a commonwealth or state, (in Latin civitas) which is but an artificial man … and in which, the sovereignty is an artificial soul.

Rules and models destroy genius and art.

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.

Pictures are for entertainment, messages should be delivered by Western Union.

Die Wahlverwandtschaften.

In art the best is good enough.

Ce n’est pas une image juste, c’est juste une image.

Photography is truth. The cinema is truth 24 times per second.

If you’re anxious for to shine in the high