I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint.

I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.

You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”

I had something in my throat. It felt like I had swallowed the whole world.

Sexism and racism are parallel problems. You can compare them in some ways, but they're not at all the same. But they're both symptoms inside the white male power structure.

I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better.

Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.