Drosselmeier had unwittingly exposed himself to an overdose of reality, and it had destroyed his reason

This dance was the dance of death. [The clowns] danced it for the wretched of the earth, that they might witness their own wretchedness

They danced the dance of the outcasts for the outcasts who watched them, amid the louring trees, with a blizzard coming on

Art need no longer be an account of past sensations. It can become the direct organization of more highly evolved sensations. It is a question of producing ourselves, not things that enslave us

Art is good when it springs from necessity. This kind of origin is the guarantee of its value there is no other