While I drew, and wept along with the terrified children I was drawing, I really felt the burden I am bearing. I felt that I have no right to withdraw from the responsibility of being an advocate.

I can always paint very well with my eyes, but with my hands it doesn't always work out.

Old ideas die hard. We've had thousands of years of women having almost no rights. Parts of the world are in a struggle toward very basic human rights for women, and most of the world isn't even there yet. And it's going to take a long time to change these attitudes.

When Michelangelo was an old man, he drew himself sitting in a child's pushcart.

Men without joy seem like corpses.

Growing old is partly an inescapable process of accommodation and adjustment.

It is my duty to voice the sufferings of humankind, the never-ending sufferings heaped mountain high. This is my task, but it is not an easy one to fulfill.