Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable, there we also stand always already quite near its transformation.

Interior of the hand. Sole that has come to walk only on feelings. That faces upward and in its mirror receives heavenly roads, which travel along themselves. That has learned to walk upon water when it scoops, that walks upon wells, transfiguring every path. That steps into other hands, changes those that are like it into a landscape: wanders and arrives within them, fills them with arrival.

This is what the things can teach us: to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly.

Fame — the aggregate of all the misunderstandings that collect around a new name.

My art is representational by choice....if the art of painting is to survive, it must describe and express people, their lives and times. It must communicate.

I am the rest between two notes which are somehow always in discord.

The highest form of love is to be the protector of another person’s solitude.