Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.

Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.

People are bloody ignorant apes.

We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.

The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from them too.

What is that unforgettable line?

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