I imagined my soul taking in these words like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood to patterned agate. I liked it when my mother shaped me this way. I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.

Never apologize. Never explain.

What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?

As an artist, you can never get what you want. What you do never approaches what you want it to be.

A couple of times, I could have turned a trick. But I didn't want to start. I knew how it would play. When you started thinking it was easy, you were forgetting what it cost.

Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.

Take my advice. Stay away from all broken people.