No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.
Two in distressmake sorrow less.
Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.