I have taken a pill to kill<br>The thin<br>Papery feeling.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy and peaceful.

I didn't want any flowers$$$ I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is$$$ you have no idea how free.

No human thing is of serious importance.

Death is not the worst that can happen to men.

The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything$$$ it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

Painting is stronger than me$$$ it makes me do it's bidding.

The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky$$$ from the earth$$$ from a scrap of paper$$$ from a passing shape$$$ from a spider's web.

Every positive value has its price in negative terms... the genius of Einstein leads to Hiroshima.