My Eyes Close And Uncomprehendingly See The

A Time Will Come When People Will Think I Am A Myth, Or Rather Something The Newspapers Have Made Up.

There Are Tonalities Which Are Noble And Others Which Are Vulgar, Harmonies Which Are Calm Or Consoling, And Others Which Are Exciting Because Of Their Boldness.

I Made A Promise To Keep A Watch Over Myself, To Remain Master Of Myself, So That I Might Become A Sure Observer.

Thanks To Our Cinctures And Corsets We Have Succeeded In Making An Artificial Being Out Of Woman. She Is An Anomaly, And Nature Herself, Obedient To The Laws Of Heredity, Aids Us In Complicating And Enervating Her. We Carefully Keep Her In A State Of Nervous Weakness And Muscular Inferiority, And In Guarding Her From Fatigue, We Take Away From Her Possibilities Of Development. Thus Modeled On A Bizarre Ideal Of Slenderness To Which, Strangely Enough, We Continue To Adhere, Our Women Have Nothing In Common With Us, And This, Perhaps, May Not Be Without Grave Moral And Social Disadvantages.

In Art There Are Only Two Types Of People: Revolutionaries And Plagiarists