For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication.

I do not know what the spirit of a philosopher could more wish to be than a good dancer. For the dance is his ideal, also his fine art, finally also the only kind of piety he knows, his 'divine service.'

The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing.

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'

When art dresses in worn-out material it is most easily recognized as art.