When I Paint, The Sea Roars Others

The Daily Life Of A Genius, His Sleep, His Digestion, He Ecstasies, His Nails, His Colds, His Blood, His Life And Death Are Essentially Different From The Rest Of Mankind.

Sometimes I Spit On My Mother's Portrait For Pleasure.

There Comes A Moment In Every Person's Life When They Realise They Adore Me.

Let The Labyrinth Of Wrinkles Be Furrowed In My Brow With The Red-hot Iron Of My Own Life, Let My Hair Whiten And My Step Become Vacillating, On Condition That I Can Save The Intelligence Of My Soul - Let My Unformed Childhood Soul, As It Ages, Assume The Rational And Esthetic Forms Of An Architecture, Let Me Learn Just Everything That Others Cannot Teach Me, What Only Life Would Be Capable Of Marking Deeply In My Skin!

If You Understand A Painting Beforehand, You Might As Well Not Paint It.