Artists Are The Monks Of

Hate Is Always A Clash Between Our Spirit And Someone Else's Body.

How Can You Have Confidence In A Woman Who Will Not Risk Entrusting Her Whole Life To You, Day And Night?

A Dream Is A Creation Of The Intelligence, The Creator Being Present But Not Knowing How It Will End.

The Man Who Cannot Live With Charity, Sharing Other Men's Pain, Is Punished By Feeling His Own With Intolerable Anguish.

Why So Much Innuendo, Draped Like Ivy To Hide A Cesspool, When Everyone Knew The Cesspool Was There?