There Is No Such Thing As Exaggerated

Oh Yes! He Loved Yellow, Did Good Vincent...when The Two Of Us Were Together In Arles, Both Of Us Insane, And Constantly At War Over Beautiful Colors, I Adored Red; Where Could I Find A Perfect Vermilion?

And Here In My Isolation I Can Grow Stronger. Poetry Seems To Come Of Itself, Without Effort, And I Need Only Let Myself Dream A Little While Painting To Suggest It.

I Shut My Eyes In Order To See.

Machines Have Come, Art Has Fled, And I Am Far From Thinking Photography Can Help Us.

Under The Continual Contact With The Pebbles My Feet Have Become Hardened And Used To The Ground. My Body, Almost Constantly Nude, No Longer Suffers From The Sun. Civilization Is Falling From Me Little By Little. I Am Beginning To Think Simply, To Feel Only Very Little Hatred For My Neighbor - Rather, To Love Him.