“The streets, roads, alleys around weighed down my vice, the vice which had forced its roots of suffering into my side, when I attached the age of reason which rises to the grey sky beats me to the ground, drags me along.”

— Arthur Rimbaud.

I had to have a song

Bleeding Poverty. Freaking, Fanatical, Fastnesses.
I came out of the cupboard opened up like a sliding door to impulse, to self-alienation and primal instinct, what I painted within the foursides of a canvas was “All emotion, no matter how extravagant, translated into convincing pictorial sensation.” (Flaubert)

— Philip Diggle.
Notes From The Underground