I Refuse The Title Of

I Adore Chicago. It Is The Pulse Of America.

We Must Live For The Few Who Know And Appreciate Us, Who Judge And Absolve Us, And For Whom We Have The Same Affection And Indulgence. The Rest I Look Upon As A Mere Crowd, Lively Or Sad, Loyal Or Corrupt, From Whom There Is Nothing To Be Expected But Fleeting Emotions, Either Pleasant Or Unpleasant, Which Leave No Trace Behind Them.

Art Is Not About Something, Art Is Something

Alas, We Are The Victims Of Advertisement. Those Who Taste The Joys And Sorrows Of Fame When They Have Passed Forty, Know How To Look After Themselves. They Know What Is Concealed Beneath The Flowers, And What The Gossip, The Calumnies, And The Praise Are Worth. But As For Those Who Win Fame When They Are Twenty, They Know Nothing, And Are Caught Up In The Whirlpool.

You Must Have This Charm To Reach The Pinnacle. It Is Made Of Everything And Of Nothing, The Striving Will, The Look, The Walk, The Proportions Of The Body, The Sound Of The Voice, The Ease Of The Gestures. It Is Not At All Necessary To Be Handsome Or To Be Pretty; All That Is Needful Is Charm.