Never Let Go Of That Fiery Sadness

We Never Had Any Children," He Said Ruefully. "our Work Was Our Children.

Patti, Did Art Get Us?' I Looked Away, Not Really Wanting To Think About It. 'i Don't Know, Robert. I Don't Know.' Perhaps It Did, But No One Could Regret That. Only A Fool Would Regret Being Had By Art; Or A Saint.

What Is The Soul? What Color Is It? I Suspected My Soul, Being Mischievous, Might Slip Away While I Was Dreaming And Fail To Return. I Did My Best Not To Fall Asleep, To Keep It Inside Of Me Where It Belonged.

I'm An Artist. I'm Interested In How Art Gets Made.

Who Can Know The Heart Of Youth But Youth Itself?