I Wanted To Run Away From Everything

The Object Of Art Is Not To Make Salable Pictures. It Is To Save Yourself.

You Won’t Arrive. It Is An Endless Search.

Interest In The Lives Of Others, The High Evaluation Of These Lives, What Are They But The Overflow Of The Interest A Man Finds In Himself, The Value He Attributes To His Own Being?.

Dare To Be Strong And Courageous. That Is The Road. Venture Anything.

Love Is Like A Wind Stirring The Grass Beneath Trees On A Black Night,' He Had Said. 'you Must Not Try To Make Love Definite. It Is The Divine Accident Of Life. If You Try To Be Definite And Sure About It And To Live Beneath The Trees, Where Soft Night Winds Blow, The Long Hot Day Of Disappointment Comes Swiftly And The Gritty Dust From Passing Wagons Gathers Upon Lips Inflamed And Made Tender By Kisses.