i have made a silent compact with myself not to change a line of what i write. i am not interested in perfecting my thoughts, nor my actions. beside the perfection of Turgenev i put the perfection of Dostoevski. (is there anything more perfect than The Eternal Husband?) here, then, in one and the same medium, we have two kinds of perfection. but in Van Gogh's letters there is a perfection beyond either of these. it is the triumph of the individual over art.
-henry miller, Tropic of Cancer
-henry miller, Tropic of Cancer
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