There is within every human being a deep well of thinking over which a heavy iron lid is kept clamped.
To be civilized, really, is to be aware of the others, their hopes, their gladnesses, their illusions about life.
The lives of people are like young trees in a forest. They are being choked by climbing vines. The vines are old thoughts and beliefs planted by dead men.
The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor.
It is all right you're saying you do not need other people, but there are a lot of people who need you.
People who have few possessions cling tightly to those they have. That is one of the facts that make life so discouraging.
Draw, draw, hundreds of drawings. Try to remain humble. Smartness kills everything.
In youth there are always two forces fighting in people. The warm unthinking little animal struggles against the thing that reflects and remembers.
The writing of words can lead to all sorts of absurdities.
Realism, in so far as the word means reality to life, is always bad art.