It Is Through The Acceptance Of A

True Revolutions In Art Restore More Than They Destroy.

The Women Rest Their Tired Half-healed Hearts; They Are Almost Well.

All Art, In Spite Of The Struggles Of Some Critics To Prove Otherwise, Is Based On Emotion And Projects Emotion.

What We Suffer, What We Endure, What We Muff, What We Kill, What We Miss, What We Are Guilty Of, Is Done By Us, As Individuals, In Private.

The Intellectual Is A Middle-class Product; If He Is Not Born Into The Class He Must Soon Insert Himself Into It, In Order To Exist. He Is The Fine Nervous Flower Of The Bourgeoisie.