In Art There Are Only

Do Not Finish Your Work Too Much. An Impression Is Not Sufficiently Durable For Its First Freshness To Survive A Belated Search For Infinite Detail; In This Way You Let The Lava Grow Cool.

Why Did I Hesitate To Put All This Glory Of The Sun On My Canvas?

Many People Say That I Don't Know How To Draw Because I Don't Draw Particular Forms. When Will They Understand That Execution, Drawing And Color (in Other Words, Style) Must Be In Harmony With The Poem?

The Missionary Is No Longer A Man, A Conscience. He Is A Corpse, In The Hands Of A Confraternity, Without Family, Without Love, Without Any Of The Sentiments That Are Dear To Us. Emasculated, In A Sense, By His Vow Of Chastity, He Offers Us The Distressing Spectacle Of A Man Deformed And Impotent Or Engaged In A Stupid And Useless Struggle With The Sacred Needs Of The Flesh, A Struggle Which, Seven Times Out Of Ten, Leads Him To Sodomy, The Gallows, Or Prison.

Civilization Is Paralysis.