Caress the detail, the divine detail.

To play safe, I prefer to accept only one type of power: the power of art over trash, the triumph of magic over the brute.

There he stood, in the camouflage of sun and shade, disfigured by them and masked by his own nakedness.

My answer to your question'Does the writer have a social responsibility?' is NO.You owe me ten cents, sir.

Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing... I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius.

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.

At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.