A Meter Of Green Is Greener Than

Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?

I Am Leaving In Order To Have Peace And Quiet. To Be Rid Of The Influence Of Civilization. I Only Want To Do Simple, Very Simple Art And To Be Able To Do That, I Have To Immerse Myself In Virgin Nature, See No One But Savages, Live Their Life, With No Other Thought In My Mind But To Render, The Way A Child Would, The Concepts Formed In My Brain And To Do This With The Aid Of Nothing But The Primitive Means Of Art, The Only Means That Are Good And True.

Oh Yes! He Loved Yellow, This Good Vincent, This Painter From Holland - Those Glimmers Of Sunlight Rekindled His Soul, That Abhorred The Fog, That Needed The Warmth.

A Young Man Who Is Unable To Commit A Folly Is Already An Old Man.

And Here In My Isolation I Can Grow Stronger. Poetry Seems To Come Of Itself, Without Effort, And I Need Only Let Myself Dream A Little While Painting To Suggest It.