Civilization Is What Makes You Sick.

Under The Continual Contact With The Pebbles My Feet Have Become Hardened And Used To The Ground. My Body, Almost Constantly Nude, No Longer Suffers From The Sun. Civilization Is Falling From Me Little By Little. I Am Beginning To Think Simply, To Feel Only Very Little Hatred For My Neighbor - Rather, To Love Him.

If I Did What Has Already Been Done, I Would Be A Plagiarist And Would Consider Myself Unworthy; So I Do Something Different And People Call Me A Scoundrel. I'd Rather Be A Scoundrel Than A Plagiarist!

Oh Yes! He Loved Yellow, This Good Vincent, This Painter From Holland - Those Glimmers Of Sunlight Rekindled His Soul, That Abhorred The Fog, That Needed The Warmth.

I Have Come To An Unalterable Decision - To Go And Live Forever In Polynesia. Then I Can End My Days In Peace And Freedom, Without Thoughts Of Tomorrow And This Eternal Struggle Against Idiots.

A Critic In My House Sees Some Paintings. Greatly Perturbed, He Asks For My Drawings. My Drawings? Never! They Are My Letters, My Secrets.