Nature Is Not Only All That Is

My Father Was Temperamentally Nervous And Obsessively Religious—to The Point Of Psychoneurosis. From Him I Inherited The Seeds Of Madness. The Angels Of Fear, Sorrow, And Death Stood By My Side Since The Day I Was Born.

Your Face Encompasses The Beauty Of The Whole Earth. Your Lips, As Red As Ripening Fruit, Gently Part As If In Pain. It Is The Smile Of A Corpse. Now The Hand Of Death Touches Life. The Chain Is Forged That Links The Thousand Families That Are Dead To The Thousand Generations To Come.

Death Is Pitch-dark, But Colors Are Light. To Be A Painter, One Must Work With Rays Of Light.

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.

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.