Everything Bigger Than Life Attracts A Crowd.

I Have Often Supported Israel, I Have Often Visited The Country And Want The Country To Exist And At Last Find Peace With Its Neighbours.

Where Man Had Been, In Every Place He Left, Garbage Remained. Even In His Pursuit Of The Ultimate Truth And Quest For His God, He Produced Garbage. By His Garbage, Which Lay Stratum Upon Stratum, He Could Always - One Had Only To Dig - Be Known. For More Long-lived Than Man Is His Refuse. Garbage Alone Lives After Him.

I Shall Speak Of How Melancholy And Utopia Preclude One Another. How They Fertilize One Another... Of The Revulsion That Follows One Insight And Precedes The Next... Of Superabundance And Surfeit. Of Stasis In Progress. And Of Myself, For Whom Melancholy And Utopia Are Heads And Tails Of The Same Coin.

Art Is Accusation, Expression, Passion. Art Is Black Charcoal Crushing White Paper.

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.