To obsess too virulently is to walk alone in anxiety. But to obsess too little is to wall oneself off from one's own creativity.

Life is too short not to create, not to love, and not to lend a helping hand to our brothers and sisters.

Dream, but expect nothing. Desire, but expect nothing. Hope, but expect nothing. Release your need to control and gain real control.

There are an infinite number of rewards you could bestow on yourself for working at your creative projects, and you deserve every one of them.

We have enough experiences in a day to make art for a decade.

When you flow like water you bring all of your talents and resources to your creative work... Flow around every obstacle you encounter, including any you've erected yourself.

If, because of anxiety and self-doubt, you procrastinate and only think about working, you'll feel more exhausted than if you'd created for hours.

You can't plan in advance for everything - every mood swing, every mistake you might make in execution, every shift in your circumstances. But you can keep updating your plan.

The artist's personality, built upon strong desires and compassionate vision, is by its nature prone to depression.

Talent is so loaded a word, so full to the brim with meanings, that an artist might be wise to forget about it altogether and just keep on working.

One visit with a child can supply us with enough creativity dust to last for a lifetime... Visit with children like you're the child you ought to be more often.

Thought involves a little charlatanism.

You're not allowed to have legs and not use them.Dance.

What women want is what men want. They want respect.

I'm first and foremost a guitar player. I've been playing since I was 12, which is over half of my life.

You just got ta believe, i have never been a quitter in my life or in my career.

The form of free verse is as binding and as liberating as the form of a rondeau.

What for me is bliss and life and ecstasy and exaltation, the world in general seeks at most in imagination; in life it finds it absurd.

Prayer is the song of the heart. It reaches the ear of God even if it is mingled with the cry and the tumult of a thousand men.

We will make love an art and we will love like artists.

At evening casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink Downward to darkness, on extended wings.