I Sit At My Door, Smoking A

The Cyclone Ends. The Sun Returns; The Lofty Coconut Trees Lift Up Their Plumes Again; Man Does Likewise. The Great Anguish Is Over; Joy Has Returned; The Sea Smiles Like A Child.

Oh Yes! He Loved Yellow, Did Good Vincent...when The Two Of Us Were Together In Arles, Both Of Us Insane, And Constantly At War Over Beautiful Colors, I Adored Red; Where Could I Find A Perfect Vermilion?

Civilization Is Paralysis.

In Art There Are Only Two Types Of People: Revolutionaries And Plagiarists

If Instead Of A Figure You Put The Shadow Only Of A Person, You Have Found An Original Starting Point, That Strangeness Of Which You Have Calculated.