I repeatedly refuse to make any practical decisions. I get a feeling of nausea about practicality.

Fashion is the pursuit of perfection, Style is the acceptance of one's flaws.

Painting is like making love. You cannot ask, 'How do you do it?' But, hopefully, it is beautiful.

We are not naturally intelligent, or happy. In fact, every day it is harder to remain intelligent. It seems often that people get intelligent through pain, but you can't be sure because nobody really can say, "I've been suffering".

I repeatedly refuse to make any practical decisions. I get a feeling of nausea about practicality.

I first think of intelligence. You need it for surviving in Italy because Italy is so pompous.

When you sit for an hour and a half in front of somebody, he or she shows about twenty faces. And so it's this crazy chase of, Which face? Which one is the one?