Critique By Creating.

It Is Well With Me Only When I Have A Chisel In My Hand.

Is It Any Wonder, Since, When Near The Fire, I Was Melted And Burned, If Now That It's Extinguished Outside Me, It Besets And Consumes Me Inside, And Bit By Bit Reduces Me To Ashes?

Poets And Painters Have The Power To Dare, I Mean To Dare To Do Whatever They May Approve Of.

I Have Never Felt Salvation In Nature. I Love Cities Above All.

Art Is A Shadow Of Divine Perfection.