There was a young lady named Mae Who smoked without stopping all day; As pack followed pack, Her lungs first turned black, And eventually rotted away.

What is, is, and what might have been could never have existed.

I don't know what it is I'm doing. But it's not that. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.... You can describe all the externals of a performance - everything, in fact, but what really constitutes its core. Explaining something makes it go away, so to speak; what's important is what's left over after you've explained everything else.

If something doesn't creep into a drawing that you're not prepared for, you might as well not have drawn it.

If you're doing nonsense it has to be rather awful, because there'd be no point.

Neither mine nor other people's prospects seem particularly pleasing just at the moment, and I have fantasies of going to Iceland, never to return. As it is, I tell myself not to remember the past, not to hope or fear for the future, and not to think in the present, a comprehensive program that will undoubtedly have very little success.