What a model of an artist was for me was an artist who worked. Picasso was the ultimate model, because the work ethic he had.

My sunglasses are like my guitar.

We go through life. We shed our skins. We become ourselves.

To be an artist — actually, to be a human being in these times — it’s all difficult. … What matters is to know what you want and pursue it.

Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire.

Where does it all lead? What will become of us? These were our young questions, and young answers were revealed. It leads to each other. We become ourselves.

Life isn't some vertical or horizontal line -- you have your own interior world, and it's not neat.

I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker. I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side.

Swift is the arrow, dark is the thorn, the slate is clean, the future awaits, awake.

Make your interactions with people transformational, not just transactional.

To me, punk rock is the freedom to create, freedom to be successful, freedom to not be successful, freedom to be who you are. It's freedom.

The truth is that you are innately good, wise, and powerful. You were created in and for good.

Ultimately, all arguments against markets are arguments against anarchy. Marx understood this much, at least.

Social media takes time and careful, strategic thought. It doesn't happen by accident.

You don't really want to load up a whole lot, probably anything more than four hours before the race. I needed something to make me feel full, but I certainly didn't want it to make me feel stuffed.

It's funny to have become an elegant skier now. But my drive is still the same.

Good art provides people with a vocabulary about things they can't articulate.

I don't think a woman should be in any government job whatever. I mean, I really don't. The reason why I do is mainly because they are erratic and emotional.

If you want to be rich, think big, think differently.

It is doubtless impossible to approach any human problems with a mind free from bias.

Godhead here in hiding, whom I adore Masked by these bare shadows, shape and nothing more, See, Lord, at thy service low lies here a heart Lost, all lost in wonder at the God thou art