In A Burning Building I Would Save

I See Something, Find It Marvelous, Want To Try And Do It. Whether It Fails Or Whether It Comes Off In The End Becomes Secondary. . . . So Long As I've Learned Something About Why.

(art Is) The Residue Of Vision.

When One Lives With Problems Of Importance, The Prostitute Is Ideal. You Pay, And Whether Or Not You Fail Is Of No Importance. She Doesn't Care.

In The Past I Have Never Thought About Loneliness When Working, And I Don't Think About It Now. Yet There Must Be A Reason For The Fact That So Many People Talk About It.

The Human Face Is As Strange To Me As A Countenance, Which, The More One Looks At It, The More It Closes Itself Off And Escapes By The Steps Of Unknown Stairways.