A novel that does not uncover a hitherto unknown segment of existence is immoral. Knowledge is the novel’s only morality.
You can understand nothing about art, particularly modern art, if you do not understand that imagination is a value in itself.
There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, for someone, pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echos.
No great movement designed to change the world can bear to be laughed at or belittled. Mockery is a rust that corrodes all it touches.
Mysticism and exaggeration go together. A mystic must not fear ridicule if he is to push all the way to the limits of humility or the limits of delight.
Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty even in times of greatest distress.