When I reflect that the task which the artist implicitly
sets himself is to overthrow existing values, to make of the chaos about him an
order which is his own, to sow strife and ferment so that by the emotional
release those who are dead may be restored to life, then it is that I run with
joy to the great and imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me, their
stuttering is like divine music to my ears.
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