All Art Is A Revolt

To Love A Painting Is To Feel That This Presence Is ... Not An Object But A Voice.

Here, Reality Is Not Subordinated To Painting, Indeed Painting Seems The Handmaid Of Reality, Though We Feel It Tending Towards A Procedure Which, While Not At The Mercy Of Appearances, Is Not Yet In Conflict With Them.

War Puts Its Questions Stupidly, Peace Mysteriously.

The Terrible Thing About Death Is That It Transforms Life Into Destiny.

The Great Mystery Is Not That We Should Have Been Thrown Down Here At Random Between The Profusion Of Matter And That Of The Stars; It Is That From Our Very Prison We Should Draw, From Our Own Selves, Images Powerful Enough To Deny Our Own Nothingness.