I never decided at all to be an artist; being an artist seems to have happened to me.

artists often lie behind on the field long after the art combine, the broad-bladed harvester of informed criticism, has mowed, bailed, and stored the crop.

the capacity to work feeds on itself and has its own course of development. This is what artists have going for them.

Art comes into the highest part of the mind, that with which we can know the presence of God.

In the range of my character at any given moment, I have acted in the only way it seemed to me I could have acted. This in no way means that I have done what was right; only what was possible for me. Sometimes I have done what I knew was wrong, and have rationalized. But rationalization is a form of desperation. It takes kindness to forgive oneself for one's life.

I had forgotten what sleep is like - a kingdom all its own.

the more visible my work became, the less visible I grew to myself.