Perhaps This Very Instant Is Your Time.

Your Work Is Carved Out Of Agony As A Statue Is Carved Out Of Marble.

Innocence Of Heart And Violence Of Feeling Are Necessary In Any Kind Of Superior Achievement: The Arts Cannot Exist Without Them.

Perhaps This Very Instant Is Your Time.

But Childhood Prolonged, Cannot Remain A Fairyland. It Becomes A Hell.

The Intellectual Is A Middle-class Product; If He Is Not Born Into The Class He Must Soon Insert Himself Into It, In Order To Exist. He Is The Fine Nervous Flower Of The Bourgeoisie.