The trouble is, I can't find a part of myself where you're not important. I write in order to be worth your while and to finance the way I want to live with you. Not the way you want to live. The way I want to live with you. Without you I wouldn't care. I'd eat tinned spaghetti and put on yesterday's clothes. But as it is I change my socks, and make money, and tart up Brodie's unspeakable drivel into speakable drivel so he can be an author too, like me.

We drift down time, clutching at straws. But what good's a brick to a drowning man?

An artist is the magician put among men to gratify - capriciously - their urge for immortality.

It is not hard to understand modern art. If it hangs on a wall it's a painting, and if you can walk around it it's a sculpture.

I don't act, I don't direct, I don't design.

I am not my body. My body is nothing without me.

And for the last three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute.