We Are Born Knowing Death.

I've Been Called A Stylist Until I Really Could Tear My Hair Out. And I Simply Don't Believe In Style. The Style Is You.

In This Moment She Felt That She Had Been Robbed Of An Enormous Number Of Valuable Things, Whether Material Or Intangible: Things Lost Or Broken By Her Own Fault, Things She Had Forgotten And Left In Houses When She Moved: Books Borrowed From Her And Not Returned, Journeys She Had Planned And Had Not Made, Words She Had Waited To Hear Spoken To Her And Had Not Heard, And The Words She Meant To Answer With. . . .

Human Life Itself May Be Almost Pure Chaos, But The Work Of The Artist Is To Take These Handfuls Of Confusion And Disparate Things, Things That Seem To Be Irreconcilable, And Put Them Together In A Frame To Give Them Some Kind Of Shape And Meaning.

The Greatest Art Comes Out Of Warmth And Conviction And Deep Feeling, But Then, Very Few People, Even Geniuses, Have All That.

I Love To Praise What I Love, And I Won't For A Minute Believe That Love Is Blind -- Indeed, It Gives Clearness Without Sharpness, And Surely That Is The Best Light In Which To Look At Anything.