It takes all sorts of people to make the underworld.
I made myself into an envelope into which I could thrust my work deep, lick the flap, seal it from everybody.
I sat staring, staring, staring - half lost, learning a new language or rather the same language in a different dialect.
The artist himself may not think he is religious, but if he is sincere his sincerity in itself is religion.
I was not ready for abstraction. I clung to earth and her dear shapes, her density, her herbage, her juice. I wanted her volume, and I wanted to hear her throb.
The house begins to be a home. The unfamiliar places are beginning to fold the familiar objects into their keeping and to cozy them down. Objects that swore at each other when the movers heaved them into the new rooms have subsided into corners and sit to lick their feet and wash their faces like cats accepting a new home.
Be careful that you do not write or paint anything that is not your own, that you don't know in your own soul.
If you aren’t going to say something directly to someone’s face, than don’t use online as an opportunity to say it. It is this sense of bravery that people get when they are anonymous that gives the blogosphere a bad reputation.
God wants us to know we are saved, for saved people are dangerous people, willing to face off with the world, unafraid of the consequences since they know that, whatever happens, they will have eternal life.
The choicest believers, who are assuredly freed from the condemning power of sin, ought yet to make it their business all their days to mortify the indwelling power of sin.
For innumerable reasons, Mahamati, the Bodhisattva, whose nature is compassion, is not to eat any meat.