Cezanne continues:

And I will easily admit, there was no peace 
in contemplating the old ways, only turmoil 
and its certain lusts.  I wrestled with the classics, 
seeking to please the public, but the flesh 
of paint speaks to me now, in a clearer 
but no less tumultuous rush. Does it hope to find 
an ear open to the prism's secret language, 
a means to order the world in color and form?