Who Can Deny That The

I Don't Believe In Writing At Night Because It Comes Too Easily. When I Read It In The Morning It's Not Good. I Need Daylight To Begin. Between Nine And Ten O'clock I Have A Long Breakfast With Reading And Music.

The Human Head Is Bigger Than The Globe. It Conceives Itself As Containing More. It Can Think And Rethink Itself And Ourselves From Any Desired Point Outside The Gravitational Pull Of The Earth. It Starts By Writing One Thing And Later Reads Itself As Something Else. The Human Head Is Monstrous.

Everyone Is Born Into A Certain Era. I Wouldn't Want To See Anyone Faced With The Circumstances That Prevailed At The Time, When There Were Few Or No Alternatives.

Art Is Accusation, Expression, Passion. Art Is Black Charcoal Crushing White Paper.

When The Young Woman Leans Over The Sky, About To Water The Flowers As Well As The Weeds, Her White Front Splits Open Until Her Milk Runs.