Man has a fund of emotional energy which is not all occupied with his self-preservation. This surplus seeks its outlet in the creation of art, for man's civilization is built upon his surplus... In everyday life, when we are mostly moved by our habits, we are economical in our expression, for then our soul-consciousness is at its low level- it has just volume enough to guide on in accustomed grooves. But when our heart is fully awakened in love, or in other great emotions, our personality is in its flood-tide.

Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence.

Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly. For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changing forms.

Love's overbrimming mystery joins death and life. It has filled my cup of pain with joy.

Only in his poetry did he have the courage to love.

For singing till his heaven fills, 'Tis love of earth that he instils, And ever winging up and up, Our valley is his golden cup, And he the wine which overflow…

I am leaving in order to have peace and quiet, to be rid of the influence of civilization. I want only to do simple, very simple art, and to be able to do that…