The Amount Of Money One Needs Is

To Play Without Passion Is Inexcusable!

The Real Artist Has No Pride. Unfortunately He Sees That His Art Has No Limits. He Feels Obscurely How Far He Is From The Goal. While He Is Perhaps Being Admired By Others, He Mourns The Fact That He Has Not Yet Reached The Point To Which His Better Genius, Like A Distant Sun, Ever Beckons To Him.

In The Country It Seems As If Every Tree Said To Me 'holy! Holy!' Who Can Ever Express The Ecstasy Of The Woods! Almighty One, In The Woods I Am Blessed. Happy Every One In The Woods. Every Tree Speaks Through Thee. O God! What Glory In The Woodland.

If I Contemplate Myself As Part Of The Universe: What Am I?

Everything Should Be At Once Surprising And Inevitable.