The day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying.
Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.
I suppose the artists invented the firm breasts they put on women, and that in reality all women had flabby ones.
You’ve never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.
An original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original.
Asking an artist to talk about his work
is like asking a plant to discuss horticulture.