Quotes About Subjectivity

I dread that awkward moment when a friend hands you the book that changed his or her life, and it is a book that you have despised since you were fourteen.

Personality is everything in art and poetry.

One is never satisfied with a portrait of a person that one knows.

What we remember is probably fiction anyway.

Life is not black and white when it comes to perception.

There is no work of art that has ever been made that is absolutely truthful about life.

The burden of living one's own life is experiencing sensations that no one else can share.

Art pierces opaque subjectivity, the not seeing of conventional life, and discloses reality.

If you look in real life, it is very hard to describe people as good people, bad people, heroes or villains. People aren't bad people. They all have their justifications.

My still-life painting has more to do with light and shadow than with the objects themselves.

Art thrives on a difference of opinion. My treasure is your junk, sort of thing. Life would be dull if we all agreed.

Not everything in life can or should be explained. Part of every painting should be incomplete...to be completed in the mind of the viewer.

Well, you can laugh. It's kind of a hippopotamus and it's kind of a car. And also, it's kind of a church. The meaning is what the viewer sees in it.

Things that are indelicate can sometimes be beautiful.

There really is no such thing as Art. There are only artists.

There is no reality without interpretation; just as there is no innocent eye, there is no innocent ear.

The final test of a novel will be our affection for it, as it is the test of our friends, and of anything else which we cannot define.

It is not rubbish! It is the part of people that you do not understand.

He was inaccurate because he was sensitive.

One is certain of nothing but the truth of one's own emotions.

Look at that picture, for instance. I love it because, like the painter himself, I love the subject. I don't judge it with eyes of the normal man. There seem two roads for arriving at Beauty—one is in common, and all the world has reached Michelangelo by it, but the other is private to me and a few more.

Preachers or scientists may generalize, but we know that no generality is possible about those whom we love; not one heaven awaits them, not even one oblivion.

Apples are like days not all taste the same.

They say that none of us exists, except in the imagination of his fellows, other than as an intangible, invisible mentality.