You don’t love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.

An artist is a creature driven by demons. He don't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why.

Surely heaven must have something of the color and shape of whatever village or hill or cottage of which the believer says, This is my own.

Gough never pretended to perfection or to sainthood - well, hardly ever. Although when he set off the metal detector at airport security, he would blame his aura.

When my horse is running good, I don't stop to give him sugar.

My ideal job? Landlord of a bordello! The company's good and the mornings are quiet, which is the best time to write.

My, my. A body does get around.