The Artist In Me Cries Out For

Possessing What We Still Were Unpossessed By, Possessed By What We Now No More Possessed.

When I Was Young My Teachers Were The Old. I Gave Up Fire For Form Till I Was Cold.

A Definite Purpose, Like Blinders On A Horse, Inevitably Narrows Its Possessor's Point Of View.

I Never Knew What Was Meant By Choice Of Words. It Was One Word Or None.

I Never Feel More At Home Than At A Ballgame.