We Construct And Keep On Constructing, Yet

The Longer A Line, The More Of The Time Element It Contains. Distance Is Time Whereas A Surface Is Apprehended More In Terms Of The Moment.

There Is No Substitute For Intuition.

To Give Emphasis Only To Beauty Makes Me Think Of A Mathematics That Deals With Positive Numbers Only.

Color Has Got Me. I No Longer Need To Chase After It. It Has Got Me For Ever. I Know It. That Is The Meaning Of This Happy Hour.

My Self . . . Is A Dramatic Ensemble. Here A Prophetic Ancestor Makes His Appearance. Here A Brutal Hero Shouts. Here An Alcoholic Bon Vivant Argues With A Learned Professor. Here A Lyric Muse, Chronically Love-struck, Raises Her Eyes To Heaven. Her Papa Steps Forward, Uttering Pedantic Protests. Here The Indulgent Uncle Intercedes. Here The Aunt Babbles Gossip. Here The Maid Giggles Lasciviously. And I Look Upon It All With Amazement, The Sharpened Pen In My Left Hand.