The poet needs a ground in popular tradition on which he may work, and which, again, may restrain his art within the due temperance. It holds him to the people, supplies a foundation for his edifice; and, in furnishing so much work done to his hand, leaves him at leisure, and in full strength for the audacities of his imagination.
The main object of the novel is to represent life. . .The success of a work of art, to my mind, may be measured by the degree to which it produces a certain illusion; that illusion makes it appear to us for the time that we have lived another life - that we have had a miraculous enlargement of experience.
I hope you will love your baby. I hope it will be a boy. That husband of yours, i hope, will always treat you well, because otherwise my specter shall come out of him, like black smoke, like a demented giant, and pull him apart nerve by nerve. ... I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and i may share, my lolita.
You make the mistake of thinking you have to choose, that you have to do what you want, that there are conditions for happiness. What matters all that matters, really is the will to happiness, a kind of enormous, ever present consciousness. The rest - women , art, success is nothing but excuses. A canvas waiting for our embroideries.