Art is neither a muscle nor a cure for ugliness. Ugliness has its own reasons and convictions to stay here. Art has a patience of a civilized, patience to withhold the gentleness of the civilization.

More than the disappearing trees and roses, it’s the human tendency to suppress the ‘Natural Voice’ of the ‘Nature’s Man’ which is sorrowful.

A thinker builds his castle of thoughts inside a garden of roses and it loses its relevance among the roses. He builds it along the shore and it’s trampled by the fury of waves eventually. He builds it on a cliff high enough and it becomes impregnable but out of reach. Such is the fate of that castle

Make love an another human compulsion and you will fortify its limitation. Acquire it like knowledge and you will understand everything