To Him Who Has Nothing It Is

But I Was Not Made For The Great Light That Devours, A Dim Lamp Was All I Had Been Given, And Patience Without End, To Shine It On The Empty Shadows.

We Are Not Saints, But We Have Kept Our Appointment. How Many People Can Boast As Much?

To Be An Artist Is To Fail, As No Other Dare Fail, That Failure Is His World And The Shrink From Desertion, Art And Craft, Good Housekeeping, Living.

We All Are Born Mad. Some Remain So.

Yes, I Dont Know Why, But I Have Never Been Disappointed, And I Often Was In The Early Days, Without Feeling At The Same Time, Or A Moment Later, An Undeniable Relief.