The head governs, the heart assists, the body acts.

Our bodies, apart from their brilliant role as drawing exercises, are the temples of our being. Like the bodies of all fauna, they deserve both our study and our appreciation.

The problem with University degrees, particularly the more spectacular ones, is that people who possess them can fall into the trap of thinking people who don't have them don't know anything.

The centipede has rhythm and flow in its hundred legs precisely because it does not have to think about it. Consider this the next time you move the instruments of your art.

The job of art is to turn time into things.

A drawing a day keeps the cobwebs away.

One of the ways to learn is to know when you're making failures.

The brilliance of art as a collectible is that it has a way of reaching out on an emotional level. It touches on mystery, even spirituality.

Keep busy while you are waiting for something to happen.

Art is a form of love. Art is the ultimate gift. Art heals life.

The only bad studio is the unused one.

Somewhere inside that hurting body, there is something better, something stronger, something real.

At first parenthood was as I had expected, exhausting, sometimes heinous, and occasionally divine. I held my children close enough to feel them breathe, laugh, swallow.

Within the mystery of death, love stands guard and waits, filling the moments that "are" with itself, so that the moments to come will never be empty, never devoid of someone so loved.

I don't know what I know, but definitely know what I know'what I know, i don't know...what I don't know, I know

I’m extremely optimistic about rapid transformation and change of things in Africa in general.

What is it that stands higher than words? Action. What is it that stands higher than action? Silence.

each generation devises better ways to survive. Civilization may, in one sense, be a tribute to the ingeniousness of some children in outwitting parents.

This mad rush for wealth must cease and the labourer must be assured not only of a living wage but, also a daily task that is not mere drudgery.

Self-loathing is the silent hemorrhaging of the soul. You don't feel or see the life force fleeing until it's not longer there, and then, of course, it's too late.

See you soon (but not soon enough).