The Art Of Frida Kahlo Is A

The Mere Word Freedom Is The Only One That Still Excites Me. I Deem It Capable Of Indefinitely Sustaining The Old Human Fanaticism. It Doubtless Satisfies My Only Legitimate Aspiration. Among All The Many Misfortunes To Which We Are Heir, It Is Only Fair To Admit That We Are Allowed The Greatest Degree Of Freedom Of Thought. It Is Up To Us Not To Misuse It. To Reduce The Imagination To A State Of Slavery-even Though It Would Mean The Elimination Of What Is Commonly Called Happiness-is To Betray All Sense Of Absolute Justice Within Oneself.

It Is Living And Ceasing To Live That Are Imaginary Solutions. Existence Is Elsewhere.

I Find It Impossible To Think Of A Picture Save As A Window, And My First Concern About A Window Is To Find Out What It Looks Out On... And There Is Nothing I Love So Much As Something Which Stretches Away From Me Out Of Sight.

What One Hides Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Finds. And What One Hides From Oneself Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Allows Others To Find.

I Am The Soul In Limbo.