The White Paintings Came First; My Silent

Our Poetry Now Is The Realization That We Possess Nothing. Anything Therefore Is A Delight (since We Do Not Posses It) And Thus Need Not Fear Its Loss.

After I Had Been Studying With Him For Two Years, Schoenberg Said, ‘in Order To Write Music, You Must Have A Feeling For Harmony.’ I Explained To Him That I Had No Feeling For Harmony. He Then Said That I Would Always Encounter An Obstacle, That It Would Be As Though I Came To A Wall Through Which I Could Not Pass. I Said, ‘in That Case I Will Devote My Life To Beating My Head Against That Wall.’

We Need Not Destroy The Past. It Is Gone.

The World, The Real Is Not An Object. It Is A Process.

To See, One Must Go Beyond The Imiagination And For That One Must Stand Absolutely Still As Though At The Center Of A Leap.