When One Lives With Problems Of Importance,

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.

I Don't Know Who I Am Or Who I Was. I Know It Less Than Ever. I Do And I Don't Identify Myself With Myself. Everything Is Totally Contradictory, But Maybe I Have Remained Exactly As I Was As A Small Boy Of Twelve.

That's The Terrible Thing: The More One Works On A Picture, The More Impossible It Becomes To Finish It.

I Paint And Sculpt To Get A Grip On Reality... To Protect Myself.

It Is Impossible To Do A Thing The Way I See It Because The Closer I Get The More Differently I See.