“There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.”
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The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
What is art? Prostitution.
This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed.
Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which, because of its very catholicity, grants full liberty to the individual and asks no better than to be celebrated in each man's own language - so long as he knows anguish and is a painter.