A Man Is An Artist Only At

And Even This Heart Of Mine Has Something Artificial. The Dancers Have Sewn It Into A Bag Of Pink Satin, Pink Satin Slightly Faded, Like Their Dancing Shoes.

These Women Of Mine Are Decent, Simple Human Beings Who Have No Other Concern Than That Of Their Physical Condition... It Is As Though One Were Watching Through A Keyhole.

Drawing Is Not The Same As Form, It Is A Way Of Seeing Form.

The Air We See In The Paintings Of The Old Masters Is Never The Air We Breathe.

Art Is Vice. You Don't Marry It Legitimately, You Rape It.