I Have Always Wanted A Mistress Who

What Still Concerns Me The Most Is: Am I On The Right Track, Am I Making Progress, Am I Making Mistakes In Art?

The Missionary Is No Longer A Man, A Conscience. He Is A Corpse, In The Hands Of A Confraternity, Without Family, Without Love, Without Any Of The Sentiments That Are Dear To Us. Emasculated, In A Sense, By His Vow Of Chastity, He Offers Us The Distressing Spectacle Of A Man Deformed And Impotent Or Engaged In A Stupid And Useless Struggle With The Sacred Needs Of The Flesh, A Struggle Which, Seven Times Out Of Ten, Leads Him To Sodomy, The Gallows, Or Prison.

Color! What A Deep And Mysterious Language, The Language Of Dreams.

There Is Always A Heavy Demand For Fresh Mediocrity. In Every Generation The Least Cultivated Taste Has The Largest Appetite.

The Work Of A Man Is The Explanation Of The Man.