Each thing we see hides something else we want to see.

If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream.

The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown.

My painting is visible images which conceal nothing... they evoke mystery and indeed when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question 'What does that mean'? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable.

Nothing is confused except the mind.

An object is not so attached to its name that we cannot find another one that would suit it better.

Each thing we see hides something else we want to see.