History repeats itself but the special call of an art which has passed away is never reproduced. It is as utterly gone out of the world as the song of a destroyed wild bird.
Any authentic work of art must start an argument between the artist and his audience.
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A rose is the visible result of an infinitude of complicated goings on in the bosom of the earth and in the air above and similarly a work of art is the product of strange activities in the human mind.
