I am an artist... I am here to live out loud.

If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.

I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.

Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.

If you shut up truth, and bury it underground, it will but grow.

If I cannot overwhelm with my quality, I will overwhelm with my quantity.

In my view you cannot claim to have seen something until you have photographed it.

I am an artist... I am here to live out loud.

There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.

One forges one's style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.

The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.

The truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.

The thought is a deed. Of all deeds she fertilizes the world most.

The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous; it is indissolubly connected with the fate of men.

I believe that all is illusion and vanity outside the treasure of truths slowly accumulated, and which will never again be lost. I believe that the sum of these truths, always increasing, will at last confer on man incalculable power and peace, if not happiness. Yes, I believe in the final triumph of life.

I believe that the future of humanity is in the progress of reason through science. I believe that the pursuit of truth, through science, is the divine ideal which man should propose to himself.

I defy you to find any real will, any reasoning force, outside of life. And everything is there; there is, in the world, no other will than this force which impels everything to life, a life even broader and higher.

In Paris, everything's for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.

Keep well; that is the half of wisdom and of happiness.

One must be arrogant, indeed, to imagine that one can take everything in one's hand and know everything!

People like comfort; that's natural. But as for making money simply for the sake of making it, and giving yourself far more trouble and anxiety to gain it than you can ever get pleasure from it when it's gained, why, as for me, I'd rather sit still and cross my arms.

Selling beauty is something I can understand. Even selling false beauty seems perfectly natural; it's a sign of progress.

The fear of life, the fear of burdens and of duties, of annoyances and of catastrophes! The fear of life, which makes us, through dread of its sufferings, refuse its joys. Ah! I tell you, this cowardliness enrages me; I cannot forgive it. We must live - live a complete life - live all our life.

Up to this day, there has been no proof of the existence of any intelligence other than the human.

Vines will be planted, corn will spring up, a whole growth of new crops; and people will still fall in love in vintages and harvests yet to come. Life is eternal; it is a perpetual renewal of birth and growth.

When people have not the same ideas, it is certainly better not to talk about them.

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.

She was cold by nature self love predominating over passion rather than being virtuous she preferred to have her pleasures all to herself.

The conclusion does not belong to the artist.

There are two men inside the artist the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.

The fate of animals is of far greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous.

My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.

Being a cover artist is not like being a real artist. That's just copying what someone else did.

The artist need not know very much; best of all let him work instinctively and paint as naturally as he breathes or walks.

What an artist learns matters little. What he himself discovers has a real worth for him, and gives him the necessary incitement to work.

Beauty, like truth, is relative to the time when one lives and to the individual who can grasp it. The expression of beauty is in direct ratio to the power of conception the artist has acquired.

I'm inspired by nature. Other artist's work is important for developing my perception.

There is only one position for an artist anywhere; and that is upright.

The difference between a bad artist and a good one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal; the good one really does.

To say that an artist sells out means that an artist is making a conscious choice to compromise his music, to to weaken his music for the sake of commercial gain.

What do you say when someone has truly inspired you? How do you express to an artist how deeply their work has affected you?

An original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original.

When I say artist I mean the man who is building things - creating molding the earth - whether it be the plains of the west - or the iron ore of Penn. It's all a big game of construction - some with a brush - some with a shovel - some choose a pen.

You have to find what makes you stable in the storm. Then, no matter what's happening round you, no matter what the hype or the publicity, you can still manage to make leaps in your work as an artist.

The key to the mystery of a great artist is that for reasons unknown, he will give away his energies and his life just to make sure that one note follows another... and leaves us with the feeling that something is right in the world.

I've always felt that if one was going to take seriously this vocation as an artist, you have to get beyond that decorative facade.

Art is a private thing, the artist makes it for himself; a comprehensible work is the product of a journalist. We need works that are strong, straight, precise, and forever beyond understanding.

The most colorful section of a bookstore is the display of SF books, with art by people like Wayne Barlow, who is a terrific artist.

Arguably, no artist grows up: If he sheds the perceptions of childhood, he ceases being an artist.