I’m very sensitive. Because my mum was my primary emotional caregiver growing up, I found myself being pinned into dresses, darting her dresses, choosing her high heels for the evening or what to wear. I’m very much a mommy’s boy.
Wit is the epitaph of an emotion.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
There is no mode of action, no form of emotion, that we do not share with the lower animals. It is only by language that we rise above them, or above each other – by language, which is the parent, and not the child, of thought.
The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science.
The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web. That is why we must not discriminate between things. Where things are concerned there are no class distinctions. We must pick out what is good for us where we can fing it – except from our own works. I have a horror of copying myself. But when I am shown a portfolio of old drawings for instance, I have no qualms about taking anyting I want from them.
One thing you can’t hide is when you’re crippled inside.
Let’s not forget that small emotions are the great captains of our lives, and that these we obey without knowing it.
Fear is our deepest and strongest emotion, and the one which best lends itself to the creation of Nature-defying illusions.
Colors, like features, follow the changes of the emotions.
All emotion is involuntary when genuine.