Everything Vanishes Round Me And Good Works

I Cannot Be Grasped In The Here And Now, For My Dwelling Place Is Much Among The Dead, As The Yet Unborn, Slightly Closer To The Heart Of Creation Than Usual, But Still Not Close Enough.

The Painter Should Not Paint What He Sees, But What Will Be Seen.

Frightened, I Jump Up From The Bank, The Struggle Begins Anew. Bitterness Has Returned. I Am Not Pan In The Reed, I Am Merely A Human Being And Want To Climb A Few Steps, But Really Climb Them.

It Is Interesting To Observe How Real The Object Remains, In Spite Of All Abstractions.

To Emphasize Only The Beautiful Seems To Me To Be Like A Mathematical System That Only Concerns Itself With Positive Numbers.