The Bee Enclosed And Through The Amber

Silence Is The Sleep That Nourishes Wisdom.

I Regret Not Starting To Paint Earlier...it Is One Of The Few Things I Do Regret.

There Is No Passion In The Mind Of Man So Weak, But It Mates And Masters The Fear Of Death . . . Revenge Triumphs Over Death; Love Slights It; Honor Aspireth To It; Grief Flieth To It.

As You Work, The Mood Grows On You. There Are Certain Images Which Suddenly Get Hold Of Me And I Really Want To Do Them. But It's True To Say That The Excitement And Possibilities Are In The Working And Obviously Can Only Come In The Working.

For Whatever Deserves To Exist Deserves Also To Be Known, For Knowledge Is The Image Of Existence, And Things Mean And Splendid Exist Alike.