I never paint a portrait from a photograph, because a photograph doesn't give enough information about what the person feels.

Painting is like making love. You cannot ask, 'How do you do it?' But, hopefully, it is beautiful.

Fashion is the pursuit of perfection, Style is the acceptance of one's flaws.

My portraits are half what I see and the other half is invented or dictated by the person and the painting.

I repeatedly refuse to make any practical decisions. I get a feeling of nausea about practicality.

When you sit for an hour and a half in front of somebody, he or she shows about twenty faces. And so it's this crazy chase of, Which face? Which one is the one?

There's poetry in the world. Poetry doesn't belong just to the poets. You know, you can look at the most premeditated, cold blooded movie and find poetry in it.

It is very scary to think mechanically about someone you know. That means that the second time you meet a person is useless. Which I tend to believe anyway.

When I look at a drawing of a person, I look at that person as living.

To me the poets are closer than I am to the idea of voice, to a sort of primeval song that we all participate in.

And dilettantism is a humorous way to survive. Everybody understands you for it and everybody hates you for it. And not everybody chooses to be a dilettante. Many choose cunning and brute force.

Anything designed to be inoffensive isn't worth your time -- life itself is pretty offensive, ending as it does with death.

Racism is a stubborn whitehead on the face of society.

A single poemis worth a hundredcozy winter nightskind wordsand healed wounds.

When we allow ourselves to experience unconditional love in our lives, what we are able to know, see, feel, hear, and access is actually unlimited, unbounded by time.

She was afraid, and the afraid, she realized, sought opportunities for bravery in love.

Emma has it wrong. You don’t ditch your men, you kill them.”“I won’t kill you.” She stepped in front of me and took my hand, watching me take the last drag of my cigarette. “I like you too much.

I never stop to plan. I take things step-by-step.

Know that I am extremely proud of all that is 'Ween.

The dream of life is really an illusion, and everybody lives in the reality he or she creates - a virtual reality that is only true for the one who creates it.

I could not hear what they say about me, my 2 Stanley Cup rings were stuffed in my ears.