The is a thought that well expressed.
" Piccasso was a terrible colorist. Turner couldn’t paint human beings worth a damn. Saul Steinberg’s formal drafting skills were appalling. TS Eliot had a full-time day job. Henry Miller was a wildly uneven writer. Bob Dylan can’t sing or play guitar.
" Piccasso was a terrible colorist. Turner couldn’t paint human beings worth a damn. Saul Steinberg’s formal drafting skills were appalling. TS Eliot had a full-time day job. Henry Miller was a wildly uneven writer. Bob Dylan can’t sing or play guitar.
Nobody suddenly discovers anything. Things are made slowly and in pain.
Nobody can tell you if what you’re doing is good, meaningful or worthwhile. The more compelling the path, the more lonely it is."
Nobody can tell you if what you’re doing is good, meaningful or worthwhile. The more compelling the path, the more lonely it is."
Nobody has it all, it is about individuality and acceptance.I think it relates to anybody who is defending there own identity. What is interesting is that we have to overcome the desire, the need to be accepted.we asking to be embraced and understood now.... while all of us knows of delayed gratification. why oh why?
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