Betrayal Betrays The Betrayer.

Perfectionism Is The Enemy Of Art. Since Art Is Essentially Divine Play, Not Dogged Work, It Often Happens That As One Becomes More Professionally Driven One Also Becomes Less Capriciously Playful.

Perhaps It Is Because Venice Is Both Liquid And Solid, Both Air And Stone, That It Somehow Combines All The Elements Crucial To Make Our Imaginations Ignite And Turn Fantasies Into Realities.

Writers Are Doubters, Compulsives, Self-flagellants. The Torture Only Stops For Brief Moments.

Fear Is A Sign-usually A Sign That I'm Doing Something Right.

Art Keeps One Young, I Think, Because It Keeps One Perpetually A Beginner, Perpetually A Child.