Read The Heart And Not The Letter

The Great Tragedy Of Life Is Not That People Set Their Sights Too High And Fail To Achieve Their Goals But That They Set Their Sights Too Low And Do.

One Paints With One's Head, Not One's Hand.

Already At Sixteen, My Mind Was A Battlefield: My Love Of Pagan Beauty, The Male Nude, At War With My Religious Faith. A Polarity Of Themes And Forms: One Spiritual, The Other Earthly.

I Live In Sin, To Kill Myself I Live; No Longer My Life My Own, But Sin's; My Good Is Given To Me By Heaven, My Evil By Myself, By My Free Will, Of Which I Am Deprived.

As When, O Lady Mine, With Chiselled Touch, The Stone Unhewn And Cold, Becomes A Living Mould, The More The Marble Wastes, The More The Statue Grows.