When A Thing Bores You,

What Is Real For Me Are The Illusions I Create With My Paintings. Everything Else Is Quicksand.

What Moves Those Of Genius, What Inspires Their Work Is Not New Ideas, But Their Obsession With The Idea That What Has Already Been Said Is Still Not Enough.

As For The Ridiculous Fear Of Making Things Below One's Potential Abilities... No, There Is The Root Of The Evil. There Is The Hiding Place Of Stupidity I Must Attack: Vain Mortal, You Are Limited By Nothing.

The Outcome Of My Days Is Always The Same; An Infinite Desire For What One Never Gets; A Void One Cannot Fill; An Utter Yearning To Produce In All Ways, To Battle As Much As Possible Against Time That Drags Us Along, And The Distractions That Throw A Veil Over Our Soul.

A Wife Of Your Own Stature Is The Greatest Of All Blessings.