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I think taste is a social concept and not an artistic one. I'm willing to show good taste, if I can, in somebody else's living room, but our reading life is too short for a writer to be in any way polite. Since his words enter into another's brain in silence and intimacy, he should be as honest and explicit as we are with ourselves.

The discovery of the good taste of bad taste can be very liberating. The man who insists on high and serious pleasures is depriving himself of pleasure; he continually restricts what he can enjoy; in the constant exercise of his good taste he will eventually price himself out of the market, so to speak. Here Camp taste supervenes upon good taste as a daring and witty hedonism. It makes the man of good taste cheerful, where before he ran the risk of being chronically frustrated. It is good for the digestion.

A man of great common sense and good taste -- meaning thereby a man without originality or moral courage.

I cannot cure myself of that most woeful of youth's follies -- thinking that those who care about us will care for the things that mean much to us.

Every orientation presupposes a disorientation.

Good taste is the excuse I've always given for leading such a bad life.

Taste is, so to speak, the microscope of the judgment.

Good taste is the first refuge of the non-creative. It is the last-ditch stand of the artist.

It is good taste, and good taste alone, that possesses the power to sterilize and is alwways the first handicap to any creative functioning.

It is conventional to call monster any blending of dissonant elements. I call monster every original inexhaustible beauty.