We are suspicious of grace. We are afraid of the very lavishness of the gift.

I've got a sweater." Ben pulled off his coat and held it out for her. "Here." "Thanks, Ben. It's lovely and warm." Then she said, "Ben, I-- I can tell you how I feel about-- about everything. I think you're the best friend I've ever had. I-- I'd lie down and die for you if you wanted me to." "Honey," Ben said. "When I get you to lie down for me it won't be to die.

When the work takes over, then the artist is enabled to get out of the way, not to interfere. When the work takes over, then the artist listens.

All forms of art are consciousness expanders, and I am convinced that they will take us further, and more consciously, than drugs.

We are all strangers in a strange land, longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is. We glimpse it sometimes in our dreams, or as we turn a corner, and suddenly there is a strange, sweet familiarity that vanishes almost as soon as it comes...

Because we fail to listen to each other's stories, we are becoming a fragmented human race.

Artistic temperament sometimes seems a battleground, a dark angel of destruction and a bright angel of creativity wrestling.