The cypresses are always occupying my thoughts.

The sunflower is mine, in a way.

Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.

Your profession is not what brings home your weekly paycheck, your profession is what you're put here on earth to do, with such passion and such intensity that it becomes spiritual in calling.

If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.

Art is to console those who are broken by life.

How lovely yellow is! It stands for the sun.

I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.

If one truly loves nature one finds beauty everywhere.

I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.

For great things do not done just happen by impulse but are a succession of small things linked together.

Life's markers are never just for one moment in time. Every event holds a key. Each builds upon the other and becomes an indicator towards a higher purpose.

Saints of the early church reaped great harvests in the field of prayer and found the mercy seat to be a mine of untold treasures.

It's that I don't like white paper backgrounds. A woman does not live in front of white paper. She lives on the street, in a motor car, in a hotel room.

After its hothouse incubation in the seventies, appropriation breathed important new life into art. This life flowered spectacularly over the decades - even if it's now close to aesthetic kudzu.

I wanted to write honest books for kids because I didn't have those when I was a kid.

Happiness is not to be sought in solitude or in busy centers. It is in the Self.

Death is the continuing of life ... the next part of our life. It's like walking through a door, you know? Walking through the door marked "Death": It's the beginning of a new part of our journey.

Perfection is one thing and enjoyment another; these two having different ends, engage men differently.

One way of assessing the toxicity of a drug is how do you feel the next day?

When I was four I read the story of horton hears a who and I cried. I wanted to eat that elephant.