No Painting Is More Replete Than Mondrian's.

What Goes By The Name Of Love Is Banishment, With Now And Then A Postcard From The Homeland, Such Is My Considered Opinion, This Evening.

What Do I Know Of Man's Destiny? I Could Tell You More About Radishes.

What Can It Matter To Me, That I Succeed Or Fail ? The Undertaking Is None Of Mine, If They Want Me To Succeed I'll Fail, And Vice Versa, So As Not To Be Rid Of My Tormentors.

All I Know Is What The Words Know, And Dead Things, And That Makes A Handsome Little Sum, With A Beginning And A Middle And An End, As In The Well-built Phrase And The Long Sonata Of The Dead.

In The Name Of Bacon Will You Chicken Me Up That Egg. Shall I Swallow Cave-phantoms?