I never wanted to design clothes. I never wanted to work for the fashion industry. Shoes sort of belong to the fashion industry, which is why I'm part of the fashion industry. But that's never been my thought. My thought since I was a child was really to design those shoes for girls on stage.
I dream of instruments obedient to my thought and which with their contribution of a whole new world of unsuspected sounds, will lend themselves to the exigencies of my inner rhythm.
Because music is a language unto itself, when I'm writing, I need silence. I need to hear the music and the rhythms of the words inside my thoughts.
I write on a visual canvas, 'seeing' a scene in my thoughts before translating it into language, so I'm a visual junkie.
I try to be self-disciplined with my thoughts. It’s our thoughts that matter most, and all the rest falls into line behind that: if I remember who I really am and why I’m on the earth, then I more naturally want to treat my body like a temple and so forth.
People pay me for my thoughts and my dreams. I think in that sense I'm very fortunate.
A personal offense is like a scratch on a phonograph record. I couldn't move my thoughts beyond my pain. It kept repeating, as if I were stuck within its grooves. There was only one way to play beyond it. I had to forgive them, so my heart could take its form again.
One thing that's paramount in my life is that I am alone. I'm a loner. And yet I have many friends and I don't feel lonely. And I even like my own company. But when I'm alone, it's to read or write. I'm in my thoughts. Mostly I'm learning.
My thoughts ran a wool-gathering.
Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, When discontent sits heavy at my heart.
A vast space naturally raises in my thoughts the idea of an Almighty Being.
The goal I proposed myself in making cubism? To paint and nothing more... with a method linked only to my thought... Neither the good nor the true; neither the useful nor the useless.
In vain would I seek to discover Why sad and mournful am I, My thoughts without ceasing brood over A tale of the time gone by.
My thoughts by night are often filled With visions false as fair: For in the past alone, I build My castles in the air.
Day and night my thoughts incline To the blandishments of wine, Jars were made to drain, I think; Wine, I know, was made to drink.
Today I am determined to go through the day with ought hurting myself, or another, with my thoughts or my actions.
I turned my thoughts to a still more novel mode... to compose pictures on canvas similar to representations on the stage... my picture is my stage, and men and women my players exhibited in a 'dumb' show.
When in such sadness I earnestly elevated my spirit into God and locked my whole heart and mind along with all my thoughts and will therein, ceaselessly pressing in with God's Love and Mercy, and not to cease until he blessed me? then after some hard storms my spirit broke through hell's gates into the inmost birth of the Godhead, and there I was embraced with Love as a bridegroom embraces his dear bride.
I have made my thoughts on it (sledging) well known over the last couple of years. We are more than happy to be talking to opposition players in the field so long as it is not personal or abusive.
The world is... the natural setting of, and field for, all my thoughts and all my explicit perceptions.
The more I drive myself into the depth of my inside, the more things come up to my vision, visibly or invisibly... I even do not know if I am seeing them with my eye or with my mind. I just need to copy them on my canvases. But this mental process is always overwhelming. I often have hard time to deal with my emotion on this state. You could call this depression on surface? But actually, so many 're-birth' and 'reform' are going on on my thoughts, inspiration, philosophy...etc in the underwater. I believe this struggle make my art real. My art always comes from my emotion.
I am not engaged to Christianity by decent forms, or saving ordinances; it is not usage, it is not what I do not understand, that binds me to it -- let these be the sandy foundations of falsehoods. What I revere and obey in it is its reality, its boundless charity, its deep interior life, the rest it gives to my mind, the echo it returns to my thoughts, the perfect accord it makes with my reason through all its representation of God and His Providence; and the persuasion and courage that come out thence to lead me upward and onward.
When you are saying you want to feel good, what you really are saying is you want to feel God: I want my thoughts to be the same as the source from which I emanated.
I need to be famous so I can talk about religion. I can talk about God. It's an expensive price that I have to pay to be the most famous man on earth and I do it with pleasure only for God. My fight is only and introduction to the real fight, the one for God. Fighting by itself doesn't interest me anymore. I want to help people, the black people and I need any kind of media to spread my thought: God, charity, peace.
But angels come to lead frail minds to rest in chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within; you stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak.
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