No artist is normal. Who happen to be normal cannot be an artist.

He had been standing still; for an artist, one of the more painful forms of death.

He had always loved God. In his darkest hours he cried out, "God did not create us to abandon us.

When I have trouble writing, I step outside my studio into the garden and pull weeds until my mind clears--I find weeding to be the best therapy there is for writer's block.

After all, the world is still great.

To try to understand another human being, to grapple for his ultimate depths, that is the most dangerous of human endeavors.

How difficult it is to be simple.