Do unto others as they wish, but with imagination.

All this twaddle, the existence of God, atheism, determinism, liberation, societies, death, etc., are pieces of a chess game called language, and they are amusing only if one does not preoccupy oneself with 'winning or losing this game of chess.

The life of an artist is like the life of a monk, a lewd monk if you like, very Rabelaisian. It is an ordination.

I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste.

You cannot define electricity. The same can be said of art. It is a kind of inner current in a human being, or something which needs no definition.

I've decided that art is a habit-forming drug. That's all it is, for the artist, for the collector, for anybody connected with it.

To all appearances, the artist acts like a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.