Your Word Travels The Entirety

Pain, Pleasure And Death Are No More Than A Process For Existence. The Revolutionary Struggle In This Process Is A Doorway Open To Intelligence

... There Is A Skeleton (or Death) That Flees Terrified In The Face Of My Will To Live.

You Loved A Man With More Hands Than A Parade Of Beggars, And Here You Stand. Heart Like A Four-poster Bed. Heart Like A Canvas. Heart Leaking Something So Strong They Can Smell It In The Street.”

I Have Never Expected Anything From My Work But The Satisfaction I Could Get From It By The Very Fact Of Painting And Saying What I Couldn't Say Otherwise.

I Love You More Than My Own Skin And Even Though You Don’t Love Me The Same Way, You Love Me Anyways, Don’t You? And If You Don’t, I’ll Always Have The Hope That You Do, And I’m Satisfied With That. Love Me A Little. I Adore You.