The Wheel That Squeaks Gets The Oil.

Criticism On My Works Is Like This: You've Worked Hard All Of Your Life, You Went To Oxford, And You've Done This And That, And You're An Art Critic. Your Job Is To Unravel The "secret" Or Whatever, And You Come Across An Entity Like Me. It's Going To Piss You Off. Because There's No Great Secret, What You See Is What You Get, And Anyone Can Understand What I'm Doing. So, It's Almost Like I Make This Critic-person Redundant, Just By My Attitude, And They Resent Me For That.

It Wasn't So Much Destroying My Dancing, It Was Destroying Me

Sometimes I Feel Lonely, But It's Ok

If I Were Really, Truly In Love With Someone Who Was Truly In Love With Me, Then I Would Get Married, But That Would Be The Only Reason I'd Get Married.

I Thought It Would Be My One And Only Exhibition So I Decided To Call It My Major Retrospective.