Art is not great. Music is not great. It's just that they tickle us. When one steadfastly refuses greatness - then and then only can the wonderful thing we call art be created.

Give the paint a chance. Give the brush a chance.

How to paint the landscape: First you make your bow to the landscape. Then you wait, and if the landscape bows to you, then, and only then, can you paint the landscape.

Give the instruments a chance - their sounds are quite beautiful.

Painting is like Golf, the fewer the strokes I take, the better the picture.

Don't everlastingly read messages into paintings - there's the Daisy - you don't rave over or read messages into it - you just look at that bully little flower - isn't that enough?

Give paint a chance to show itself entirely as paint.

A true work of art can stand many seeings, revealing anew at each seeing.

Art is just a series of natural gestures. For God's sake, don't try to be artistic - all wild animals walk the same way.

Raindrops blossom brilliantly in the rainbow, and change to flowers in the sod, but snow comes in full flower direct from the dark, frozen sky.

Oh my love, I like to vanish in you like a ripple vanishes in an ocean—slowly, silently, and endlessly.

They are married, after all, in every way that matters. The difficulty is that they appear not to have noticed. And one is somewhat wary, given the history, of bringing that fact to their attention.

Her voice was a hushed whisper against my ear. An audible smile.

Justice divine has weighed: the doom is clear. All hope renounce, ye lost, who enter here.

Complex rules restricting our labour markets are not some naturally occurring phenomenon. Just as excessive regulation is not some external plague that's been visited on our businesses.

Humanization and coming to understand somebody as a human being is about as good a kind of forgiveness as you can get, I think.

Men are restless, adventurous. Women are conservative - despite what current ideology says.

Mr. Trump is Mr. Trump. I'm Mr. Wilders. I'm not anybody's copy or whatsoever.

The border between the Real and the Unreal is not fixed, but just marks the last place where rival gangs of shamans fought each other to a standstill.