“In art, it is hard to say anything as good as saying nothing.”

That of which we cannot speak, we must pass over in silence.

Religion as madness is a madness springing from irreligiousness.

When we can’t think for ourselves, we can always quote.

If we spoke a different language, we would perceive a somewhat different world.

It’s not how the world is, but that it is, that is cause for astonishment.

Concerning that which cannot be talked about, we should not say anything.

If people never did silly things nothing intelligent would ever get done.

At the core of all well-founded beliefs lies belief that is unfounded.

Nothing in the visual field allows you to infer that it is seen by an eye.

I act with complete certainty. But this certainty is my own.

How small a thought it takes to fill a life.

Music conveys to us itself!

Tell them I’ve had a wonderful life.

Ideas too sometimes fall from the tree before they are ripe.

What can be shown, cannot be said.

Knowledge is in the end based on acknowledgment.

Art is a nation’s most precious heritage. For it is in our works of art that we reveal to ourselves and to others the inner vision which guides us as a nation. And where there is no vision, the people perish.

Impression is not enough. Design, style, technique – these, too, are not enough. Art must reach further than impression or self-revelation .

I don’t know anybody who needs a critic to find out what art is.

I did a lot of sitting back and thinking about what I wanted for myself and what I wanted for my country: more unity, more support for the arts and more opportunities for young writers from marginalized groups.

My mother was the most creative, fantastic person and would come up with great things for us to do. She’d buy art supplies and all of us would sit around painting. I was lucky.

Photography is more than a medium for factual communication of ideas. It is a creative art.

You don’t make a photograph just with a camera. You bring to the act of photography all the pictures you have seen, the books you have read, the music you have heard, the people you have loved.

A still small voice spake unto me, ‘Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?