Some Colors Reconcile Themselves To One Another,

I Painted The Picture, And In The Colors The Rhythm Of The Music Quivers. I Painted The Colors I Saw.

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.

The Camera Will Never Compete With The Brush And The Palette, Until Such Time As Photographs Can Be Taken In Heaven Or Hell.

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

I Was Walking Along The Road With Two Friends. The Sun Set. I Felt A Tinge Of Melancholy. Suddenly The Sky Became A Bloody Red... I Stood There, Trembling With Fright. And I Felt A Loud, Unending Scream Piercing Nature.