Everything man sees he takes for a toy. 'Thus is he always, forever a boy.

I’m doing the absolute opposite of giving myself away. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll be completely visible. If the painting sells, I’ll be in Paris, hanging on a wall. If anything, I’m being selfish. It’s perfect; all the freedom of creation, with none of the fuss.

The night darkens, the stars unfriendly, the cold a knife upon her neck - but Nella waits, until she can no longer difference between Johannes and the darkness that carries him away.

The ink was secret nectar, for Marin isn't married.

What was once, is no longer.

Believe it or don't believe it, Madame. But my feet are tired too. Bloody tired. Like a dead man's.