"You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may <i> think </i> there is, but once you get there, when you're … - J. D. Salinger

"when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose."

God, I wish you could have been there.

Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her.

However contradictory the coroner's report — whether he pronounces Consumption or Loneliness or Suicide to be the cause of death — isn't it plain how the true artist-seer actually dies? I say that the true artist-seer, the heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own sacred human conscience.