And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, “Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!”
“I want the thing itself. The reality of a work of art is no symbol, no imitation either of outer or inner Nature. It doesn’t imitate the pulse of the heart. It is its own self; it has its own pulse. Otherwise everything would be an imitation in relation to something. Perhaps that’s so: This something is God. Only I don’t like the word imitation.”
Anton Webern