There was something in this girl he could never grasp, an inner life inscrutable to him. He was in awe of the child's flights of fancy, her insatiable passion always to be running off somewhere, her a...
She wasn't at peace the way that artist painted her. She was leaning forward, and the rigidness of her spine showed the ache in her soul. She was a desperate woman with frailties just like her, tempta...
His intensity was magnetic, irresistible.
A year passes like a revolving wheel, and when the spoke of January comes round again, it finds itself in a different place. And so with pain. It does not leave us where it found us.
A woman can't stay hard when all around her is loveliness.
Work is love made plain, whether man’s work or woman’s work.
We are not botanists. We are artists. Suggest nature, but conventionalize it. Stylize it. Simplify it to its contour lines to convey structure.
Was it wrong for me to want more than constrained existence? Wrong to hunger for change, new faces, a full life? Surprises to please my eyes and ears?
Things will change, Father. They must. And art can help create the change.
Therefore, what I had been taught to fear I now embraced. Betrayal- his or mine, it didn't matter- freed me.
People who would be that close to her, she thought, a matter of a few arms' lengths, looking, looking, and they would never know her.
One more thing. She wears Patchouli. Every tart in Montmartre wears it. Place Pigalle reeks of it. If she wants to carry out her pose as an aristocrat, she ought to refine her tastes.
If I don’t love the feelings I have while creating those windows, I’m only working for coin and not from soul.
I had always held the notion that if two people love the same thing, they must love each other as well, but now the memories of that love had been tarnished by betrayal.
Exercise your eyes. Take pleasure in the grace of shape and the excitement of color.
Amar es ponerse al cuello el nudo corredizo de la ilusión; adorar a alguien mientras pareces asfixiarte. Pero incluso el amor no correspondido, el amor fugaz, es mejor que nada.
A hard choice. Water or books. Hmm. One could always have wine instead.
Life we can’t control, she thought. We must accept the cork we are and stay afl, and bob gaily when we can. She
Docks—I thought of these acts as love offerings to me. Despite the time and intensity he gave to others, he made me feel that I was the vessel into which he was pouring his best self. I realized I had...
What I want to do and what I have to do are always fighting each other like alley cats.