I don’t think you can talk about progress in art—movement, but not progress.

The privileged classes can afford psychoanalysis and whiskey. Whereas all we get is sermons and sour wine. This is manifestly unfair. I protest, silently.

The death of God left the angels in a strange position.

Any genuine work of art generates new work.

We are what we have been told about ourselves. We are the sum of the messages we have received. The true messages. The false messages.

Yes, success is everything. Failure is more common. Most achieve a sort of middling thing, but fortunately one's situation is always blurred, you never know absolutely quite where you are.

Goals incapable of attainment have driven many a man to despair, but despair is easier to get to than that -- one need merely look out of the window, for example.