One of the few graces of getting old - and God knows there are few graces - is that if you've worked hard and kept your nose to the grindstone, something happens: The body gets old but the creative mechanism is refreshed, smoothed and oiled and honed. That is the grace. That is what's happening to me.

I know there are supposedly happy people in this world. I never believed it, but I take it for granted. God knows, they're all on television.

There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready.

I wanted to be acknowledged as an artist, not just some kiddie-book artist.

There's a mystery there, a clue, a nut, a bolt, and if I put it together, I find me.

I don't want to lose hope.

I've always loved pigs: the shape of them, the look of them, and the fact that they are so intelligent.