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.

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

We're here to get each other through this thing, whatever it is.

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

Fear that I was very different from everyone else. Fear that deep down inside I was a shallow fraud, that after the revolution or after Jesus came down to straighten everything out, everyone from hippies to hard-hats would unfold and blossom into the beautiful people they were while I would remain a gnarled little wart in the corner, oozing bile and giving off putrid smells.

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

The most radical, audacious thing to think is that there might be some point to working hard and thinking hard and reading hard and writing hard and trying to be of service