Only Reality Interests Me Now

If Only Someone Else Could Paint What I See, It Would Be Marvellous, Because Then I Wouldnt Have To Paint At All.

(art Is) The Residue Of Vision.

The Human Face Is As Strange To Me As A Countenance, Which, The More One Looks At It, The More It Closes Itself Off And Escapes By The Steps Of Unknown Stairways.

When One Lives With Problems Of Importance, The Prostitute Is Ideal. You Pay, And Whether Or Not You Fail Is Of No Importance. She Doesn't Care.

The One Thing That Fills Me With Enthusiasm Is To Try, Despite Everything, To Get Nearer To Those Visions That Seem So Hard To Express.