I think that-that anyone, the painter, the musician, the writer works in a-a kind of an-an insane fury. He's demon-driven. He can get up feeling rotten, with a hangover, or with-with actual pain, and-and if he gets to work, the first thing he knows, he don't remember that pain, that hangover-he's too busy.

In Europe, being an artist is a form of behavior. In America, it's an excuse for a form of behavior.

A mule will labor ten years willingly and patiently for you, for the privilege of kicking you once.

By artist I mean of course everyone who has tried to create something which was not here before him, with no other tools and material than the uncommer-ciable ones of the human spirit.

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.

It feels almost soft, like something to be caressed. Only gold feels that way.

We shall not kill and maybe next time we even won't.