Someone spilled the ink on the canvas. Now boasts: "I painted the night".
Life is perpetually creative because it contains in itself that surplus which ever overflows the boundaries of the immediate time and space, restlessly pursuing its adventure of expression in the varied forms of self-realization.
Days are coloured bubbles that float upon the surface of fathomless nights.
Those who own much have much to fear.
What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real.
My eyes have seen much, but they are not weary. My ears have heard much, but they thirst for more.