The One Thing That Fills Me With

The Human Face Is As Strange To Me As A Countenance, Which, The More One Looks At It, The More It Closes Itself Off And Escapes By The Steps Of Unknown Stairways.

(art Is) The Residue Of Vision.

The More I Work, The More I See Things Differently, That Is, Everything Gains In Grandeur Every Day, Becomes More And More Unknown, More And More Beautiful. The Closer I Come, The Grander It Is, The More Remote It Is.

All I Can Do Will Only Ever Be A Faint Image Of What I See And My Success Will Always Be Less Than My Failure Or Perhaps Equal To The Failure.

That's The Terrible Thing: The More One Works On A Picture, The More Impossible It Becomes To Finish It.