She had acquired some of his gypsy ways, some of his nonchalance, his bohemian indiscipline. She had swung with him into the disorders of strewn clothes, spilled cigarette ashes, slipping into bed all dressed, falling asleep thus, indolence, timelessness…A region of chaos and moonlight. She liked it there.
The days weren’t long enough for the reading she wanted to do.
Surround yourself with people who nourish your soul.
It is always the false that makes you suffer, the false desires and fears, the false values and ideas, the false relationships between people. Abandon the false and you are free of pain; truth makes happy, truth liberates.
Art is to console those who are broken by life.
Vincent Van Gogh