Every Artist Is An Unhappy

Those Who Hope, By Retiring From The World, To Earn A Holiday From Human Frailty, In Themselves And Others, Are Usually Disappointed.

We Re All Muddlers. The Thing Is To See Is When One's Got To Stop Muddling.

Art Is Not Cozy And It Is Not Mocked. Art Tells The Only Truth That Ultimately Matters. It Is The Light By Which Human Things Can Be Mended. And After Art There Is, Let Me Assure You All, Nothing.

To Lose Somebody Is To Lose Not Only Their Person But All Those Modes And Manifestations Into Which Their Person Has Flowed Outwards; So That In Losing A Beloved One May Find So Many Things, Pictures, Poems, Melodies, Places Lost Too: Dante, Avignon, A Song Of Shakespeare's, The Cornish Sea.

Art Is The Final Cunning Of The Human Soul Which Would Rather Do Anything Than Face The Gods.