Real Museums Are Places Where Time Is

She Looked Out The Window; In Her Eyes Was The Light That You See Only In Children Arriving At A New Place, Or In Young People Still Open To New Influences, Still Curious About The World Because They Have Not Yet Been Scarred By Life.

No One Drives Me Into Exile, Not Even The Nationalists.

The Silence Of Snow, Thought The Man Sitting Just Behind The Bus Driver.

The Thing That Binds Us Together Is That We Have Both Lowered Our Expectations Of Life

Painting Is The Silence Of Thought And The Music Of Sight.