My Will Exceeds My Talents.

The Notes I Have Made Are Not A Diary In The Ordinary Sense, But Partly Lengthy Records Of My Spiritual Experiences, And Partly Poems In Prose.

The Rich Man Who Gives, Steals Twice Over. First He Steals The Money And Then The Hearts Of Men.

And I Would Often Wake Up At Night And Stare Widely Into The Room: Am I In Hell?

No Longer Shall I Paint Interiors With Men Reading And Women Knitting. I Will Paint Living People Who Breathe And Feel And Suffer And Love.

A Person Himself Believes That All The Other Portraits Are Good Likenesses Except The One Of Himself.