I Owe You The Truth

With An Apple I Will Astonish Paris.

A Work Of Art Which Did Not Begin In Emotion Is Not Art.

Fruits ... Like Having Their Portrait Painted. They Seem To Sit There And Ask Your Forgiveness For Fading. Their Thought Is Given Off With Their Perfumes. They Come With All Their Scents, They Speak Of The Fields They Have Left, The Rain Which Has Nourished Them, The Daybreaks They Have Seen.

Taste Is The Best Judge. It Is Rare. Art Only Addresses Itself To An Excessively Small Number Of Individuals.

The Landscape Thinks Itself In Me And I Am Its Consciousness.