A Critic Is Someone Who Meddles With

Art Is Either Revolution Or Plagiarism

Under The Continual Contact With The Pebbles My Feet Have Become Hardened And Used To The Ground. My Body, Almost Constantly Nude, No Longer Suffers From The Sun. Civilization Is Falling From Me Little By Little. I Am Beginning To Think Simply, To Feel Only Very Little Hatred For My Neighbor - Rather, To Love Him.

The Landscape With Its Violent, Pure Colours Dazzled And Blinded Me. I Was Always Uncertain.

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?

Wherever I Go I Need A Period Of Incubation So That I May Learn The Essence Of Nature, Which Never Wishes To Be Understood Or Yield Herself.