Art Is Really A Battle.

One Must Do The Same Subject Over Again Ten Times, A Hundred Times. In Art Nothing Must Resemble An Accident, Not Even Movement.

One Does Not Marry Art. One Ravishes It.

There Is A Kind Of Success That Is Indistinguishable From Panic.

It Requires Courage To Make A Frontal Attack On Nature Through The Broad Planes And The Large Lines And It Is Cowardly To Do It By The Facets And Details. It Is A Battle.

And Even This Heart Of Mine Has Something Artificial. The Dancers Have Sewn It Into A Bag Of Pink Satin, Pink Satin Slightly Faded, Like Their Dancing Shoes.