I know nothing, because I know too much, and understand not nearly enough and never will.

“A boy’s face, cheeks, lips, eyes, yes, and reddish-golden hair in provision. Good Lord, it was I…it was not a canvas but a mirror. It was this Amadeo.”

“If I’m an angel, paint me with black wings.”

“And all the lives I’d lived, and the worlds I’d known, seemed even less substantial.”

Sweet to think on it, that when we are last weary of all this world there is the rising sun.”

“Let the truth be damned.”