If the prose-writer is too eager to fondle his words, the eidos of 'prose' is shattered and we fall into highfalutin nonsense.
[...] We are within language as within our body. We feel it spontaneously while going beyond it toward other ends [...]
What is valid for the elements of artistic creation is also valid for their combinations. The painter does not want to draw signs on his canvas, he wants to create a thing. And if he puts together red, yellow, and green, there is no reason why this collection of colours should have a definable sign…
as if at bottom there were only one art which expressed itself indifferently in one or the other of these languages, like the Spinozistic substance which is adequately reflected by each of its attributes
