I often told the fanatics of realism that there is no such thing as realism in art: it only exists in the mind of the observer. Art is a symbol, a thing conjuring up reality in our mental image. That is why I don't see any contradiction between abstract and figurative art either.

Art exists because reality is neither real nor significant.

Art was not reality—it was only the appearance of reality.

Solitude is the only way to create real art.

Art belongs to the domain of the unreal and it is only when people try to make a reality of it that it falls apart.

Art is realistic when it strives to express an ethical ideal. Realism is striving for truth, and truth is always beautiful. Here the aesthetic coincides with the ethical.

The imagination is the only place in the universe where it is possible to live.

To me, absurdity is the only reality.

Art must take reality by surprise. It takes those moments which are for us merely a moment, plus a moment, plus another moment, and arbitrarily transforms them into a special series of moments held together by a major emotion. Art should not, it seems to me, pose the “real” as a preoccupation. Nothing is more unreal than certain so-called “realist” novels — they’re nightmares. It is possible to achieve in a novel a certain sensory truth — the true feeling of a character — that is all.

Imagination is all we have in the end.

Art is the only serious thing in the world. And the artist is the only person who is never serious.

I'm the idea of the human imagination, which, when you think about it, is the only thing we can really be certain ISN'T imaginary.

Art only begins where Imitation ends.

But real life is only one kind of life — there is also the life of the imagination.