My only hope was to be polite.

Colds, ulcers, flu, and cancer are things we get. Schizophrenia is something we are.

None of us are entirely well, and none of us are irrecoverably sick.

There was a point when I was 15 or 16 that I realized that my father wanted me to be a loner. I decided, 'It's okay to be an introvert, but I don't want to be a loner. I want a few other people in my life.

Art is lunging forward without certainty about where you are going or how to get there, being open to and dependent on what luck, the paint, the typo, the dissonance, give you. Without art, you're stuck with yourself as you are and life as you think life is.

Life for the unwell is discontinuous and unpredictable. Things just come out of nowhere. People try but mostly do a lousy job of taking care of you.

Who but a brazen crazy person would go one-on-one with blank paper or canvas armed with nothing but ideas?