She just keeps kissing my scars. Every scar. She knows about them all. She watched them all appear and heal. Sophie's lips against me make every punch, every kick, every wound, every scar worth it.

We sit in silence for a minute. Thinking about the freedom we don't have and the future we can't control.

His voice is so low I can feel it brushing my waist.

One thing that struck me early is that you don’t put into a photograph what’s going to come out. Or, vice versa, what comes out is not what you put in.

Those who think life is a competition become corrupt.

Existence was not only absurd, it was plain hard work. Think of how many times you put on your underwear in a lifetime. It was appalling, it was disgusting, it was stupid.

In many times, after creating a piece of work I want to stand up and applaud.

Conceptual art is entirely word-bound. It is, in fact, the kind of art that is exhausted in its verbal description.

You would never dream of going on to play a scene in front of an audience at least without having rehearsed it. But you do somehow in front of a camera.

Art is purposiveness without purpose.

It is one of the ironies of history that reformers so often misjudge the consequences of their reforms.

The pleasures of the mighty are obtained by the tears of the poor.

Sometimes you have to disclaim your country and inhabit another before you can return to your own.