May The Devil Himself Splatter

How Our Old Friend [michelangelo] Of The Sistine Would Have Loved To Photograph His Workers, Perched On The Fragile Planks. Dali Was Right To Say Leonardo Only Worked From Photographs.

Poets Don't Draw. They Unravel Their Handwriting And Then Tie It Up Again, But Differently.

The Artist Must Know How Far To Go Too Far.

Commissions Suit Me. They Set Limits. Jean Marais Dared Me To Write Play In Which He Would Not Speak In The First Act, Would Weep For Joy In The Second And In The Last Would Fall Backward Down A Flight Of Stairs.

We Shelter An Angel Within Us. We Must Be The Guardians Of That Angel.