Picasso Only Registers The Deformities Which Have

There Has Never Been A Time In Which I Have Been Convinced From Within Myself That I Am Alive. You See, I Have Only Such A Fugitive Awareness Of Things Around Me That I Always Feel They Were Once Real And Are Now Fleeting Away. I Have A Constant Longing, My Dear Sir, To Catch A Glimpse Of Things As They May Have Been Before They Show Themselves To Me.

Books Are A Narcotic.

There's An Infinite Amount Of Hope But Not For Us.

I'm Thinking Only Of My Illness And My Health, Though Both, The First As Well As The Second, Are You.

Because Of Impatience We Were Driven Out [of Paradise]; Because Of Impatience We Cannot Return.