The Fact I Myself Do Not Understand

Drawing Is The Honesty Of The Art. There Is No Possibility Of Cheating. It Is Either Good Or Bad.

Everything Alters Me, But Nothing Changes Me.

Let The Labyrinth Of Wrinkles Be Furrowed In My Brow With The Red-hot Iron Of My Own Life, Let My Hair Whiten And My Step Become Vacillating, On Condition That I Can Save The Intelligence Of My Soul - Let My Unformed Childhood Soul, As It Ages, Assume The Rational And Esthetic Forms Of An Architecture, Let Me Learn Just Everything That Others Cannot Teach Me, What Only Life Would Be Capable Of Marking Deeply In My Skin!

I Shall Be So Brief That I Have Already Finished.

Happy Is He Who Causes A Scandal