Death is the tyrant of the imagination.
If we must have a tyrant let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver.
Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart. How hard thy yoke how cruel thy dart. Those escape your anger who refuse your sway and those are punished most who most obey.
Old age is a tyrant who forbids under pain of death the pleasures of youth.
Artistic qualities that once seemed undeniable don't seem so now. Sometimes these fluctuations are only fickleness of taste momentary glitches in an artist's work or an artist getting ahead of his audience (it took me ten years to catch up to Albert Oehlen). Other times however these problems mean there's something wrong with the art.