To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

Spend the years of learning squandering Courage for the years of wandering Through a world politely turning From the loutishness of learning.

Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.

I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.

Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.

Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.

I had seen faces in photographs I might have found beautiful had I known even vaguely in what beauty was supposed to consist. And my father's face, on his death-bolster, had seemed to hint at some form of aesthetics relevant to man. But the faces of the living, all grimace and flush, can they be described as objects?