But Some Day Sooner Or

On Certain Occasions Art Can Shake Very Ordinary Spirits, And Whole Worlds Can Be Revealed By Its Clumsiest Interpreters.

[the Artist] Is Like A Pump; He Has Inside Him A Great Pipe That Reaches Down Into The Entrails Of Things, The Deepest Layers. He Sucks Up What Was Lying There Below, Dim And Unnoticed, And Brings It In Great Jets To The Sunlight.

My Foregrounds Are Imaginary, My Backgrounds Real.

We Swung Between Madness And Suicide ... It Was Beautiful!

Madame Bovary Is Myself.