I find old copies of National Gallery catalogues, which are written in the dryest possible prose, infinitely soothing.

Passion lies between one mark and the next, and also within all of them.

The picture surface recedes just as much in the 20th century as it did in the 15th. The techniques of making pictures have hardly changed.

I am isolated as an artist, not as a person.

A collection makes its own demands. Many artists have been collectors. I think of it rather as an illness. I felt it was using up too much energy.

In England, it's thought to be morally suspect to worry about what your surroundings look like.

I'm very envious of the few artists who are any good and still do portraits.