Art is hard for a puritan to understand.

As a child I was a great liar. Fortunately my mother liked my lies. I promised her marvelous things.

Granted: I AM an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peep-hole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me.

There must be reasons why we men are so hipped on breasts as if we'd all been weaned too soon.

Art is accusation, expression, passion. Art is black charcoal crushing white paper.

Students who don't want to get anywhere are sure to get somewhere.

An empty bus hurtles through the starry night Perhaps the driver is singing and happy because he sings.