All Theory, Dear Friend, Is Gray, But

The Few Of Understanding, Vision Rare, Who Veiled Not From The Herd Their Hearts, But Tried, Poor Generous Fools, To Lay Their Feelings Bare, Them Have Men Always Burnt And Crucified.

All That Is Transitory Is But A Metaphor.

A Distracted Existence Leads Us To No Goal

We Are Not All Equal, Nor Can We Be So.

In Art It's Not The Thinking That Does The Job, But Making.