An emotion is suggested and demolished in one glance by certain words.

Cultural confinement takes place when a curator imposes his own limits on an art exhibition, rather than asking an artist to set his limits.

A vacant white room with lights is still a submission to the neutral. Works of art seen in such spaces seem to be going through a kind of esthetic convalescence.

Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future

Art history is less explosive than the rest of history, so it sinks faster into the pulverized regions of time.

Museums are tombs, and it looks like everything is turning into a museum.

A work of art when placed in a gallery loses its charge, and becomes a portable object or surface disengaged from the outside world.

Artists themselves are not confined, but their output is.

Banal words function as a feeble phenomena that fall into their own mental bogs of meaning.

Nature does not proceed in a straight line, it is rather a sprawling development.

Establish enigmas, not explanations.

Your reputation is what others think of you

Warning: Humor may be hazardous to your illness.

You from within our glasses, you lusty golden brew, whoever imbibes takes fire from you. The young and the old sing your praises. Here's to beer, here's to cheer, here's to beer.

I laugh, I love, I hope, I try I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too, So we're really not that different, me and you.

Once I fix what kids watch, I'll be moving on to everything else.

Bush is quite vulnerable if the Democrats pick the right issues. So far, though, they've shown their usual tendency to go for the capillary.

Let your monkey do it.

There are too many books I haven’t read, too many places I haven’t seen, too many memories I haven’t kept long enough.

I will tell you something else, King, which may be a surprise for you. It will not happen for hundreds of years, but both of us are to come back.

When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.