A Young Man Who Is Unable To

For Christ's Sake, Were The Mountains Blue, Then Chuck On Some Blue And Don't Go Telling Me That It Was A Blue A Bit Like This Or Like That, It Was Blue Wasn't It? Good - Make Them Blue And That's Enough!

Silence! I Am Learning To Know The Silence Of A Tahitian Night.

Machines Have Come, Art Has Fled, And I Am Far From Thinking Photography Can Help Us.

Out In The Sun, Some Painters Are Lined Up. The First Is Copying Nature, The Second Is Copying The First, The Third Is Copying The Second... You See The Sequence.

Night Is Here. All Is At Rest. My Eyes Close In Order To See Without Actually Understanding The Dream That Flees Before Men Infinite Space; And I Experience The Languorous Sensation Produced By The Mournful Procession Of My Hopes.