Civilization will not attain to its perfection until the last stone from the last church falls on the last priest

One forges one's style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.

Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.

I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.

If you shut up truth and bury it under the ground, it will but grow, and gather to itself such explosive power that the day it bursts through it will blow up everything in its way.

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, I will answer you: "I am here to live out loud