Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.

The hero is strangely akin to those who die young.

I don't want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.

I implore those who love me to love my solitude.

I know of no other advice than this: Go within and scale the depths of your being from which your very life springs forth.

Ideally a painter (and, generally, an artist) should not become conscious of his insights: without taking the detour through his reflective processes, and incomprehensibly to himself, all his progress should enter so swiftly into the work that he is unable to recognize them in the moment of transition. Alas, the artist who waits in ambush there, watching, detaining them, will find them transformed like the beautiful gold in the fairy tale which cannot remain gold because some small detail was not taken care of.

As if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose.