The public wants work which flatters its illusions.

You don’t make art out of good intentions.

Artists who seek perfection in everything are those who cannot attain it in anything.

Of all lies, art is the least untrue.

I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.

Better to work for yourself alone. You do as you like and follow your own ideas, you admire yourself and please yourself: isn’t that the main thing? And then the public is so stupid. Besides, who reads? And what do they read? And what do they admire?