A Work Of Art Is An Echo

I Seldom Remember My Father, But I Sneeze And Rub My Nose The Way He Did. I Also Love My Son With Grief And Anger, As He Did.

Mathematics: Silent Harmonies. Music: Sounding Numbers.

When I Try To Portray To Myself My Heart's Desire, Nothing Happens.

Family Romances Are The Only Ones That Never Turn Out Happily.

Totem Poles And Wooden Masks No Longer Suggest Tribal Villages But Fashionable Drawing Rooms In New York And Paris.