I see artists as a great battalion moving through paint, words, music towards cosmological interpretation.

The effective in art is what rapes the emotions of your audience without nourishing its values.

But I love to feel events overlapping each other, crawling over one another like wet crabs in a basket

I am quite alone. I am neither happy nor unhappy; I lie suspended like a hair or a feather in the cloudy mixtures of memory.

A critic is a lug-worm in the liver of literature.

The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know.

I see artists as a great battalion moving through paint, words, music towards cosmological interpretation.