Art Is Accusation, Expression, Passion. Art Is

As A Child I Was A Great Liar. Fortunately My Mother Liked My Lies. I Promised Her Marvelous Things.

What Does A River Like The Vistula Carry Away With It? Everything That Goes To Pieces: Wood, Glass, Pencils, Pacts ... Chairs, Bones, And Sunsets Too. What Had Long Been Forgotten Rose To Memory, Floating On Its Back Or Stomach, With The Help Of The Vistula.

Art Is So Wonderfully Irrational, Exuberantly Pointless, But Necessary All The Same. Pointless And Yet Necessary, That's Hard For A Puritan To Understand.

How Easily The Routine Of Sin Establishes Itself.

I Have Found That Words That Are Loaded With Pathos And Create A Seductive Euphoria Are Apt To Promote Nonsense.