A Great Artist Is Never Poor.

The Cicada Sing An Endless Song In The Long Grass, Smells Run Along The Earth And Falling Stars Run Over The Sky, Like Tears Over A Cheek. You Are The Privileged Person To Whom Everything Is Taken. The Kings Of Tarshish Shall Bring Gifts.

The Consolations Of The Vulgar Are Bitter In The Royal Ear. Let Physicians And Confectioners And Servants In The Great Houses Be Judged By What They Have Done, And Even By What They Have Meant To Do; The Great People Themselves Are Judged By What They Are. I Have Been Told That Lions, Trapped And Shut Up In Cages, Grieve From Shame More Than From Hunger.

Through All The World There Goes One Long Cry From The Heart Of The Artist: Give Me A Chance To Do My Best.

It's An Odd Feeling-farewell-there Is Some Envy In It. Men Go Off To Be Tested For Courage And If We're Tested At All, It's For Patience, For Doing Without, For How Well We Can Endure Loneliness.

There Is Something Strangely Determinate And Fatal About A Single Shot In The Night. It Is As If Someone Had Cried A Message To You In One Word, And Would Not Repeat It.