“It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for my sake.”

Perhaps only those people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the world.

Give up bearing children and bear hope and love and devotion to those already born.

We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.

Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.

The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man alive tremble.

He felt he had lost it for good, he knew what it was to have been in communication with her, and to be cast off again. In misery, his heart like a heavy stone, he went about unliving.

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself

If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.

Love is never a fulfillment. Life is never a thing of continuous bliss. There is no paradise. Fight and laugh and feel bitter and feel bliss: and fight again. Fight, fight. That is life.

Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.

I would rather sit still in a state of peace on a stone than ride in the motor-car of a multi-millionaire and feel the peacelessness of the multi-millionaire poisoning me.

I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.

The only rule is, do what you really, impulsively, wish to do. But always act on your own responsibility, sincerely. And have the courage of your own strong emotion.

I don’t want the corpses of flowers about me.

She thought she loved, she thought she was full of love.

And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.

My ideas come when I least expect it, so I’ve always got to have a studio nearby or close by somewhere.

I love jotting down ideas for my blog, so I doodle or take notes on all kinds of stuff that inspires me: the people I meet, boutiques I visit, a florist that just gave me a great idea for an interior-design project, things like that.

The symbol of all art is the Prism. The goal is unrealism. The method is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism, into the secret glories which it contains.

We live in a world that is like art painted by the light in so many colors.

However much you are read in theory, if thou hast no practice thou art ignorant.

I’m gonna write from personal experience, from emotion, from whatever the hell I’m feeling that day.

Indulging in the pleasures of creation.

Well, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.