The Land Belongs To The Future.

Every Artist Makes Herself Born. You Must Bring The Artist Into The World Yourself.

I Suppose There Were Moonless Nights And Dark Ones With But A Silver Shaving And Pale Stars In The Sky, But I Remember Them All As Flooded With The Rich Indolence Of A Full Moon.

After All, The Supreme Virtue In All Art Is Soul, Perhaps It Is The Only Thing Which Gives Art A Right To Be.

Nearly All The Escapists In The Long Past Have Managed Their Own Budget And Their Social Relations So Unsuccessfully That I Wouldn't Want Them For My Landlords, Or My Bankers, Or My Neighbors. They Were Valuable, Like Powerful Stimulants, Only When They Were Left Out Of The Social And Industrial Routine.

The Pale, Cold Light Of The Winter Sunset Did Not Beautify - It Was Like The Light Of Truth Itself.