The Real Passion Of The Twentieth Century

In This Vast Country That He Had So Loved, He Was Alone.

There Is Merely Bad Luck In Not Being Loved; There Is Misfortune In Not Loving. All Of Us, Today, Are Dying Of This Misfortune. For Violence And Hatred Dry Up The Heart Itself; The Long Fight For Justice Exhausts The Love That Nevertheless Gave Birth To It.

It's Not The Struggle That Makes Us Artists, But Art That Makes Us Struggle.

Man Is Always Prey To His Truths. Once He Has Admitted Them, He Cannot Free Himself From Them.

Every Artist Preserves Deep Within Him A Single Source From Which, Throughout His Lifetime, He Draws What He Is, And What He Says. When The Source Dries Up, The Work Withers And Crumbles.