Perhaps I Have No Talent, But All

Oh Mysterious World Of All Light, Thou Hast Made A Light Shine Within Me, And I Have Grown In Admiration Of Thy Antique Beauty, Which Is The Immemorial Youth Of Nature.

Oh Yes! He Loved Yellow, Did Good Vincent...when The Two Of Us Were Together In Arles, Both Of Us Insane, And Constantly At War Over Beautiful Colors, I Adored Red; Where Could I Find A Perfect Vermilion?

If I Did What Has Already Been Done, I Would Be A Plagiarist And Would Consider Myself Unworthy; So I Do Something Different And People Call Me A Scoundrel. I'd Rather Be A Scoundrel Than A Plagiarist!

I Sit At My Door, Smoking A Cigarette And Sipping My Absinthe, And I Enjoy Every Day Without A Care In The World

Art Requires Philosophy, Just As Philosophy Requires Art. Otherwise, What Would Become Of Beauty?