Art has always been this--pure interrogation, rhetorical question less the rhetoric--whatever else it may have been obliged by social reality to appear.

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realized that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.

Women are all the bloody sameyou can't love for five minutes without wanting it abolished in brats and house bloody wifery.

To find a form that accommodates the shape of the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.

Words are all we have.

What are we doing here, that is the question.