May Night Continue To Fall Upon The

Psychic Automatism In Its Pure State, By Which One Proposes To Express - Verbally, By Means Of The Written Word, Or In Any Other Manner - The Actual Functioning Of Thought. Dictated By The Thought, In The Absence Of Any Control Exercised By Reason, Exempt From Any Aesthetic Or Moral Concern.

All My Life, My Heart Has Yearned For A Thing I Cannot Name.

There Is Nothing With Which It Is So Dangerous To Take Liberties As Liberty Itself.

The Art Of Frida Kahlo Is A Ribbon Around A Bomb.

To See, To Hear, Means Nothing. To Recognize (or Not To Recognize) Means Everything.