Wherever I Go I Need A Period

Go On Working, Freely And Furiously, You Will Make Progress And Sooner Or Later Your Worth Will Be Recognised, If You Have Any.

The Missionary Is No Longer A Man, A Conscience. He Is A Corpse, In The Hands Of A Confraternity, Without Family, Without Love, Without Any Of The Sentiments That Are Dear To Us. Emasculated, In A Sense, By His Vow Of Chastity, He Offers Us The Distressing Spectacle Of A Man Deformed And Impotent Or Engaged In A Stupid And Useless Struggle With The Sacred Needs Of The Flesh, A Struggle Which, Seven Times Out Of Ten, Leads Him To Sodomy, The Gallows, Or Prison.

My Eyes Close And Uncomprehendingly See The Dream In The Infinite Space That Stretches Away, Elusive, Before Me.

Art Is Either Revolution Or Plagiarism

The Landscape With Its Violent, Pure Colours Dazzled And Blinded Me. I Was Always Uncertain.