There's no such thing as autobiography, there's only art and lies

Even death after a long illness is without warning. The moment you had prepared for so carefully took you by storm. The troops broke through the window and snatched the body and the body is gone. ... Death reduces us to the baffled logic of a small child. If yesterday why not today?

The rebellion of art is a daily rebellion against the state of living death routinely called real life.

I have a head for heights it's true, but no stomach for the depths. Strange then to have plumbed so many.

Everyone thinks their own situation most tragic. I am no exception.

Art saved me; it got me through my depression and self-loathing, back to a place of innocence.

They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?