Labor humanizes, exalts.
Memories are precious. . . they help tell us who we are.
I like colorful tales with black beginnings and stormy middles and cloudless blue-sky endings. But any story will do.
When I'm drawing a picture, I feel. . . quiet inside.
Death's gruesome face taunts: soulless eyes, crimson grimace. I really hate clowns.
Especially when you're faced with hard times, you need to remember that life is either tragedy or comedy. For me, that's what the magic is. Life has remarkable, surprising moments that get you through the hard times.
Humans. Violent but peace-loving. Passionate but cerebral. Humane but cruel. Impulsive but calculating. Generous but selfish. And yet, somehow I knew that they represented the best hope of the galaxy.
To the man who loves art for its own sake, it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived.
When you win a Grammy, it links a certain prestige and importance to you, you know? People want to talk to you.
Many [hooligans] discover to their shame that they have scruples; they have roots and, greatest disadvantage of all, they have hope. The fathers superior of the order do not try to influence their children in Satan; they merely shake their heads in sorrow. They know that the apostate must work out his own damnation.
The best revenge is living well, my dad told me once.