Art is a crime scene in a sense, a crucible, of the mind and heart and our dreams.

Every artist has his or her struggle to work out in their work. The more powerful the struggle, the more persuasive the art.

I wrote poetry in a secretive way, I think, a secret from myself, I mean. I wrote it because it gave me great pleasure to do so and because it relieved the ever-building pressure of the demanding world around me. It's always served me as a way of appraising, and controlling overwhelming experiences. But this need, and desire, was always in conflict with my need to "survive."

Happiness is a powerful thing. It freed me to do what I always wanted to do.

I'm the kind of father I wanted my father to be. That may be the sweetest revenge.

My first sense of myself was as an artist, a painter. I would see a Van Gogh painting and just love it, the more emotional and passionate the more it attracted me.

To pay for my father's funeral I borrowed money from people he already owed money to. One called him a nobody. No, I said, he was a failure. You can't remember a nobody's name, that's why they're called nobodies. Failures are unforgettable.