The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above.
Those of us who were brought up as Christians and have lost our faith have retained the sense of sin without the saving belief in redemption. This poisons our thought and so paralyses us in action.
Classical and romantic: private language of a family quarrel, a dead dispute over the distribution of emphasis between man and nature.
Hate is the consequence of fear we fear something before we hate it a child who fears noises becomes a man who hates noise.
There are many who dare not kill themselves for fear of what the neighbours will say.
As repressed sadists are supposed to become policemen or butchers so those with an irrational fear of life become publishers.
Words today are like the shells and rope of seaweed which a child brings home glistening from the beach and which in an hour have lost their luster.
Today the function of the artist is to bring imagination to science and science to imagination, where they meet, in the myth.