The Idea Is There Locked

If I Am More Alive Because Love Burns And Chars Me, As A Fire, Given Wood Or Wind, Feels New Elation, It's That He Who Lays Me Low Is My Salvation, And Invigorates The More, The More He Scars Me.

Good Painting Is The Kind That Looks Like Sculpture.

One Paints With One's Head, Not One's Hand.

A Beautiful Thing Never Gives So Much Pain As Does Failing To Hear And See It.

Perchance That I Might Learn What Pity Is, That I Might Laugh At Erring Men No More.