Artists Are The Monks Of

I Spent The Whole Evening Sitting Before A Mirror To Keep Myself Company.

Why So Much Innuendo, Draped Like Ivy To Hide A Cesspool, When Everyone Knew The Cesspool Was There?

One Does Not Kill Oneself For Love Of A Woman, But Because Love - Any Love - Reveals Us In Our Nakedness, Our Misery, Our Vulnerability, Our Nothingness.

No Matter How Much A Young Man Likes To Think For Himself, He Is Always Trying To Model Himself On Some Abstract Pattern Largely Derived From The Example Of The World Around Him. And A Man, No Matter How Conservative, Shows His Own Worth By His Personal Deviation From That Pattern.

Hate Is Always A Clash Between Our Spirit And Someone Else's Body.