The World Doesn't Understand Me And I

Tell Me, Do You Think I'm Going Mad? I Sometimes Wonder, You Know.

I Am Still Searching For The Expression Of Those Confused Sensations That We Bring With Us At Birth.

The Approbation Of Others Is A Stimulus Of Which One Must Sometimes Be Wary. The Feeling Of One's Own Strength Makes One Modest.

I Could Paint For A Hundred Years, A Thousand Years Without Stopping And I Would Still Feel As Though I Knew Nothing.

Yes, A Bunch Of Carrots, Observed Directly, Painted Simply In The Personal Way One Sees It, Worth More Than The Ecole's Everlasting Slices Of Buttered Bread, That Tobacco-juice Painting, Slavishly Done By The Book? The Day Is Coming When A Single Original Carrot Will Give Birth To A Revolution.