The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.
The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect, but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the object it loves.
Only in the fever of creation could she recreate her own lost life.
One feels inclined to say that the intention that man should be ‘happy’ is not included in the plan of ‘Creation’.
Man himself is not a finished creation; if he were, God would not Be.
Every act of perception, is to some degree an act of creation, and every act of memory is to some degree an act of imagination.
A creation of importance could be produced only when its author isolates himself.
