Disgrace Is The Synonym Of Discovery.

You’re Like A Lighthouse Shining Beside The Sea Of Humanity, Motionless: All You Can See Is Your Own Reflection In The Water. You’re Alone, So You Think It’s A Vast, Magnificent Panorama. You Haven’t Sounded The Depths. You Simply Believe In The Beauty Of God’s Creation. But I Have Spent All This Time In The Water, Diving Deep Into The Howling Ocean Of Life, Deeper Than Anyone. While You Were Admiring The Surface, I Saw The Shipwrecks, The Drowned Bodies, The Monsters Of The Deep

The Apartments Of The Rich Are Cabinets Of Curiosities: A Conglomeration Of Classical Antiquity, Gothic, Renaissance; Louis Xiii... Something From Every Century But Our Own, A Predicament That Has Arisen In No Other Period... So That We Seem To Be Subsisting On The Ruins Of The Past, As If The End Of The World Were Near.

Perfection Does Not Exist; To Understand It Is The Triumph Of Human Intelligence; To Expect To Possess It Is The Most Dangerous Kind Of Madness.

It Was One Of Those Somber Evenings When The Sighing Of The Wind Resembles The Moans Of A Dying Man; A Storm Was Brewing, And Between The Splashes Of Rain On The Windows There Was The Silence Of Death. All Nature Suffers In Such Moments; The Trees Writhe In Pain And Twist Their Heads; The Birds Of The Fields Cower Under The Bushes; The Streets Of Cities Are Deserted.

Great Artists Have No Country.