Somebody Said That I Am The Last

Speak Against Unconscious Oppression, Speak Against The Tyranny Of The Unimaginative, Speak Against Bonds.

Any General Statement Is Like A Check Drawn On A Bank. Its Value Depends On What Is There To Meet It.

The Rustling Of The Silk Is Discontinued, Dust Drifts Over The Courtyard, There Is Not Sound Of Footfall, And The Leaves Scurry Into Heaps And Lie Still, And She The Rejoicer Of The Heart Is Beneath Them: A Wet Leaf That Clings To The Threshold.

The Serious Artist Must Be As Open As Nature. Nature Does Not Give All Of Herself In A Paragraph. She Is Rugged And Not Set Apart Into Discreet Categories.

Don't Be Blinded By The Theorists And A Lying Press.