I am unable to describe exactly what is the matter with me; now and then there are horrible fits of anxiety, apparently without cause, or otherwise a feeling of emptiness and fatigue in the head.

I confess I do not know why, but looking at the stars always makes me dream.

If I am worth anything later, I am worth something now. For wheat is wheat, even if people think it is a grass in the beginning.

Occasionally, in times of worry, I've longed to be stylish, but on second thought I say no-just let me be myself-and express rough, yet true things with rough workmanship.

Yellow is capable of charming God.

What is done in love is done well.

Do you know that drawing with words is also an art... ?