Is art really the priesthood that demands the pure in heart who belong to it wholly?
One does not substitute oneself for the past, one merely adds to it a new link.
When I start thinking, all is lost.
Here, on the river's verge, I could be busy for months without changing my place, simply leaning a little more to right or left.
Long live the sun which gives us such beautiful color.
You have to hurry up if you want to see something, everything disappears.