Art Lies Because It's Social.

I Look At Myself But I'm Missing. I Know Myself: It’s Not Me.

I’ve Always Wanted To Be Liked. It Grieved Me That I Was Treated With Indifference. Left An Orphan By Fortune, I Wanted—like All Orphans—to Be The Object Of Someone’s Affection. This Need Has Always Been A Hunger That Went Unsatisfied, And So Thoroughly Have I Adapted To This Inevitable Hunger That I Sometimes Wonder If I Really Feel The Need To Eat. Whatever Be The Case, Life Pains Me.

I Believe That Saying A Thing Is To Keep Its Virtues And Take Away Its Terror.

Life Is Good, But Wine Is Better.

Sometimes, When I Wake Up At Night, I Feel Invisible Hands Weaving My Destiny.