Elegance Ceases To Exist When It Is

Since The Day Of My Birth, My Death Began Its Walk. It Is Walking Toward Me, Without Hurrying.

Victor Hugo Was A Madman Who Thought He Was Victor Hugo

How Our Old Friend [michelangelo] Of The Sistine Would Have Loved To Photograph His Workers, Perched On The Fragile Planks. Dali Was Right To Say Leonardo Only Worked From Photographs.

Don't For A Moment Believe He Was Killing The Young; He Was Costuming Angels.

Beauty Makes One Lose One's Head. Poetry Is Born Of This Decapitation