Innate In Nearly Every Artistic Nature Is

For The Sake Of Goodness And Love, Man Shall Let Death Have No Sovereignty Over His Thoughts.

What Pleases The Public Is Lively And Vivid Delineation Which Makes No Demands On The Intellect; But Passionate And Absolutist Youth Can Only Be Enthralled By A Problem.

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?

But My Deepest And Most Secret Love Belongs To The Fair-haired And The Blue-eyed, The Bright Children Of Life, The Happy, The Charming And The Ordinary.