“What am I doing here in this endless winter?”

“What am I doing here?”

“From here on out, there's just reality. I think that's what maturity is: a stoic response to endless reality. But then, what do I know?”

“And I wondered, with mounting anxiety, What am I supposed to do here? What am I supposed to think?”

“For among these winters there is one so endlessly winter that only by wintering through it will your heart survive. - Rilke”

“Do not think I do not realise what I am doing. I am making a composition using the following elements: the winter beach; the winter moon; the ocean; the women; the pine trees; the riders; the driftwood; the shells; the shapes of darkness and the shapes of water; and the refuse. These are all inimical to my loneliness because of their indifference to it. Out of these pieces of inimical indifference, I intend to represent the desolate smile of winter which, as you must have gathered, is the smile I wear.”