My Blood Is A Miracle That, From

You Loved A Man With More Hands Than A Parade Of Beggars, And Here You Stand. Heart Like A Four-poster Bed. Heart Like A Canvas. Heart Leaking Something So Strong They Can Smell It In The Street.”

Only One Mountain Can Know The Core Of Another Mountain.

Really, I Do Not Know Whether My Paintings Are Surrealist Or Not, But I Do Know That They Are The Frankest Expression Of Myself.

... There Is A Skeleton (or Death) That Flees Terrified In The Face Of My Will To Live.

People In General Are Scared To Death Of The War And All The Exhibitions Have Been A Failure, Because The Rich Bitches Don't Want To Buy Anything.