Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.
What might be taken for a precocious genius is the genius of childhood. When the child grows up, it disappears without a trace. It may happen that this boy will become a real painter some day, or even a great painter. But then he will have to begin everything again, from zero.
There is no more light in a genius than in any other honest man — but he has a particular kind of lens to concentrate this light into a burning point.[Das Genie hat nicht mehr Licht als ein andrer, rechtschaffener Mensch — aber es sammelt dies Licht durch eine bestimmte Art von Linse in einen Brennpunkt.]
Theirs, too, is the word-coining genius, as if thought plunged into a sea of words and came up dripping.