Long ago I left heroics to the heroes
We absolve a friend from gratitude when we remind him of a favor.
Doubt whom you will, but never yourself.
Our first and last love is self-love.
We fear things in proportion to our ignorance of them.
It is the passion that is in a kiss that gives to it its sweetness; it is the affection in a kiss that sanctifies it.
When all else is lost, the future still remains.
Fear has its use but cowardice has none.
When my parents separated, I was very grateful.
When I conjure these memories, they are of the present to me, because after all, the artist is a kind of enchanter in time.
Making strides in areas unencumbered by hard-won expectation feels effervescent. By switching into child-mode, shuffling the cortex, we remember our innocence, when we knew less. These are the essentials of continued aesthetic discovery.