War Is Only A Cowardly Escape From

He Who Loves The More Is The Inferior And Must Suffer.

Innate In Nearly Every Artistic Nature Is A Wanton, Treacherous Penchant For Accepting Injustice When It Creates Beauty And Showing Sympathy For And Paying Homage To Aristocratic Privilege.

What A Wonderful Phenomenon It Is, Carefully Considered, When The Human Eye, That Jewel Of Organic Structures, Concentrates Its Moist Brilliance On Another Human Creature!

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?

To Allow Only The Kind Of Art That The Average Man Understands Is The Worst Small-mindedness And The Murder Of Mind And Spirit. It Is My Conviction That The Intellect Can Be Certain That In Doing What Most Disconcerts The Crowd, In Pursuing The Most Daring, Unconventional Advances And Explorations, It Will In Some Highly Indirect Fashion Serve Man - And In The Long Run, All Men.