Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper function of the critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.

Reason is a supple nymph, and slippery as a fish by nature. She had as leave give her kiss to an absurdity any day, as to syllogistic truth. The absurdity may turn out truer.

Tragedy is like strong acid - it dissolves away all but the very gold of truth.

Since obscenity is the truth of our passion today, it is the only stuff of art - or almost the only stuff.

All vital truth contains the memory of all that for which it is not true.