Words for mental processes are all derived from physical things.

I am for an art that takes into account the direct effect of the elements as they exist from day to day apart from representation.

Artists themselves are not confined, but their output is.

Art's development should be dialectical and not metaphysical.

Nature is never finished.

Mistakes and dead-ends often mean more to these artists than any proven problem.

Language operates between literal and metaphorical signification.

An emotion is suggested and demolished in one glance by certain words.

When a finished work of 20th century sculpture is placed in an 18th century garden, it is absorbed by the ideal representation of the past, thus reinforcing political and social values that are no longer with us.

Questions about form seem as hopelessly inadequate as questions about content.

A work of art when placed in a gallery loses its charge, and becomes a portable object or surface disengaged from the outside world.

History is a facsimile of events held together by finally biographical information.

Artists are expected to fit into fraudulent categories.

Parks are idealizations of nature, but nature in fact is not a condition of the ideal.

Objects in a park suggest static repose rather than any ongoing dialectic. Parks are finished landscapes for finished art .

A vacant white room with lights is still a submission to the neutral. Works of art seen in such spaces seem to be going through a kind of esthetic convalescence.

Art history is less explosive than the rest of history, so it sinks faster into the pulverized regions of time.

Visiting a museum is a matter of going from void to void.

Language thus becomes monumental because of the mutations of advertising.

The museum spreads its surfaces everywhere, and becomes an untitled collection of generalizations that mobilize the eye.

History is representational, while time is abstract; both of these artifices may be found in museums, where they span everybody's own vacancy.

The museums and parks are graveyards above the ground- congealed memories of the past that act as a pretext for reality.

Nature does not proceed in a straight line, it is rather a sprawling development.

Cultural confinement takes place when a curator imposes his own limits on an art exhibition, rather than asking an artist to set his limits.

Words for mental processes are all derived from physical things.

Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future.

Abstraction is everybody's zero but nobody's nought.

Some artists imagine they've got a hold on this apparatus, which in fact has got a hold of them. As a result, they end up supporting a cultural prison that is out of their control.

Painting, sculpture and architecture are finished, but the art habit continues.

Language should find itself in the physical world, and not end up locked in an idea in somebody's head.

Language should be an ever developing procedure and not an isolated occurrence.

Banal words function as a feeble phenomena that fall into their own mental bogs of meaning.

From the top of the quarry cliffs, one could see the New Jersey suburbs bordered by the New York City skyline.

Museums are tombs, and it looks like everything is turning into a museum.

The scenic ideals that surround even our national parks are carriers of a nostalgia for heavenly bliss and eternal calmness.

Lets face it the human eye is clumsy sloppy and unintelligible when compared to the cameras eye.

I can remember the frustration of not being able to talk. I knew what I wanted to say, but I could not get the words out, so I would just scream.

In other words, I have no truck for anyone who goes out and does an eclectic building.

Kind thoughts are rarer than either kind words or deeds. They imply a great deal of thinking about others. This in itself is rare. But they also imply a great deal of thinking about others without the thoughts being criticisms. This is rarer still.

Style is as much under the words as in the words. It is as much the soul as it is the flesh of a work.

I want to promote poetry to the point where you got all the baldhead kids running around doing poetry, getting the music out of the way and having only words, the spoken word, and then see what happens.

Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.

But in the finished art of the song the use of words has no connection with the use of words in poetry.

Duty, Honor, Country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be.

So, in other words, how you respond to a sculpture, how a viewer sees the sculpture, is vital.

I think one's feelings waste themselves in words; they ought all to be distilled into actions which bring results.

Nature is a temple in which living columns sometimes emit confused words. Man approaches it through forests of symbols, which observe him with familiar glances.

Words are the children of reason and, therefore, can't explain it. They really can't translate feeling because they're not part of it. That's why it bugs me when people try to analyze jazz as an intellectual theorem. It's not. It's feeling.

Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity, to what we would have others think of us.