I'm Dying, But Otherwise I'm In Very

Tall Windows Show Infinity; And, Hard Reality, The Candles Weep And Pry And Dance Like Lives Mocked At By Chance. The Rooms Are Vast As Sleep Within; When Once I Ventured In, Chill Silence, Like A Surging Sea, Slowly Enveloped Me.

Good Taste Is The Worst Vice Ever Invented.

The Arts Are Life Accelerated And Concentrated.

I Am One Of Those Unhappy Persons Who Inspire Bores To The Greatest Flights Of Art.

The Child And The Great Artist -- These Alone Receive The Sensation Fresh As It Was At The Beginning Of The World.