Without Freedom There Is No Art.

There Is A Life And There Is A Death, And There Are Beauty And Melancholy Between.

You Always Get Exaggerated Notions Of Things You Don't Know Anything About.

Alas, After A Certain Age Every Man Is Responsible For His Face.

One Plays At Being Immortal And After A Few Weeks One Doesn't Even Know Whether Or Not One Can Hang On Till The Next Day.

Thus I Draw From The Absurd Three Consequences, Which Are My Revolt, My Freedom, And My Passion. By The Mere Activity Of Consciousness I Transform Into A Rule Of Life What Was An Invitation To Death—and I Refuse Suicide.