Louisiana Is A Fresh-air Mental Asylum.

We Gain No Wisdom By Imposing Our Way On Others.

There Is No Higher Form Of Artistic Expression Then Film

Then The Sun Broke Above The Crest Of The Hills And The Entire Countryside Looked Soaked In Blood, The Arroyos Deep In Shadow, The Cones Of Dead Volcanoes Stark And Biscuit-colored Against The Sky. I Could Smell Pinion Trees, Wet Sage, Woodsmoke, Cattle In The Pastures, And Creek Water That Had Melted From Snow. I Could Smell The Way The Country Probably Was When It Was Only A Dream In The Mind Of God.

And Every Good Artist Knows That The Gift Comes From Somewhere Else, And It's There For A Reason, And That's To Make The World A Better Place.

Success, Like Fashion, Is A Fickle Companion And Can Leave One In The Wink Of An Eye.