Bohemian, n. Artist without the art.
Religion, art, taste, and other delusions.
The commercial and avant-garde hacks enslave themselves equally to their audience — one to confirm its expectations, one to frustrate them.
God paradoxes are only infinity paradoxes in clerical garb.
It is the work of art to conceal art, and of criticism to reveal it again.
If you want realism, you have to make a few things up.
The work of art is not the object, and not the experience of the object: it is the experience of having experienced it.
If orchestral performances were movies, the instrumentalists would be celebrated, the conductor credited, and the composer unmentioned.
Those who say they don’t believe in love, or art, or politics, or God, always believe acutely, piercingly, in their disbelief.
The demand for revelation has not slackened; the churches have merely lost their monopoly.
Ugliness, incompetence, immaturity: these have become ideologies — no longer failures but ends in themselves.