An Improper Art Aims At

Nations Have Their Ego, Just Like Individuals.

There's No Friends Like The Old Friends.

As I Am. As I Am. All Or Not At All.

There Was No Doubt About It: If You Wanted To Succeed You Had To Go Away. You Could Do Nothing In Dublin.

The Artist, Like The God Of The Creation, Remains Within Or Behind Or Beyond Or Above His Handiwork, Invisible, Refined Out Of Existence, Indifferent, Paring His Fingernails.