The Notes I Have Made Are Not

Your Face Encompasses The Beauty Of The Whole Earth. Your Lips, As Red As Ripening Fruit, Gently Part As If In Pain. It Is The Smile Of A Corpse. Now The Hand Of Death Touches Life. The Chain Is Forged That Links The Thousand Families That Are Dead To The Thousand Generations To Come.

My Will Exceeds My Talents.

Anybody Who Perceives Colors Can Become A Painter. It's Simply A Question Of Whether Or Not One Has Felt Anything And Whether One Has The Courage To Recount The Things One Has Felt.

From My Rotting Body, Flowers Shall Grow And I Am In Them And That Is Eternity.

I Sense A Scream Passing Through Nature. I Painted ... The Clouds As Actual Blood. The Colour Shrieked.