In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

Every artist should paint a self portrait once a year

slow horses can finish too

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

this may be the worst one yet

The thousand times he had proved it meant nothing. Now he was proving it again.

“He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife.”

Every day is a new day...

Sit with me and watch me make some art