Last night I woke up with someone squeezing my hand. It was my other hand.

I have no message to give the politicians of the world. They're all completely addicted to promiscuous verbalization and I'm quite sure they would not be at all interested in hearing about cut-ups and hieroglyphics and still less interested to hear about silence.

There's a boy across the river with an ass like a peach; alas I was no swimmer and lost my Clementine.

You can't fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal.

Death needs time for what it kills to grow in.

Tell Allen I plead guilty to vampirism and other crimes against life. But I love him and nothing else cancels love.

Out of the closets and into the museums, libraries, architectural monuments, concert halls, bookstores, recording studios and film studios of the world. Everything belongs to the inspired and dedicated thief…. Words, colors, light, sounds, stone, wood, bronze belong to the living artist. They belong to anyone who can use them. Loot the Louvre! A bas l’originalité, the sterile and assertive ego that imprisons us as it creates. Vive le vol-pure, shameless, total. We are not responsible. Steal anything in sight.