Thus, there is no true holy art, but there are true artists.

There is no true, holy madness, but there are truly mad people. Truly mad people lose their hope to reach health, (4) and this hopelessness is bliss. Only in loneliness can a self be born, and one can only pray sincerely when abandoned by all gods. A true artist prays hopelessly and addresses no one, turning back
to the window, trading picturesque views of beliefs, concepts and convictions on the four walls of one’s own consciousness, greeting people coming in and out, and the entire universe breathes heavily on the other side of window sill, accepting the choice, and lays its chin onto the artist’s shoulder, (6) thus joining the observation.