I Felt That Paris Was

A Great Artist Is Never Poor.

The Divine Art Is The Story.

Human Talk Is A Centrifugal Function, Ever In Flight Outwards From What Is On The Talker's Mind.

Through All The World There Goes One Long Cry From The Heart Of The Artist: Give Me A Chance To Do My Best.

My Love Was Both Humble And Audacious, Like That Of A Page For His Lady.