Acorns Were Good Until Bread Was Found.

Painting Is The Pattern Of One's Own Nervous System Being Projected On Canvas.

Hurl Your Calumnies Boldly; Something Is Sure To Stick.

My Painting Is Not Violent, It's Life That Is Violent. Even Within The Most Beautiful Landscape, In The Trees, Under The Leaves, The Insects Are Eating Each Other; Violence Is A Part Of Life. We Are Born With A Scream; We Come Into Life With A Scream And Maybe Love Is A Mosquito Net Between The Fear Of Living And The Fear Of Death.

The Images Of Mens Wits And Knowledge Remain In Books. They Generate Still, And Cast Their Seeds In The Minds Of Others, Provoking And Causing Infinite Actions And Opinions In Succeeding Ages

I Had Rather Believe All The Fables In The Legend, And The Talmud, And The Alcoran, Than That This Universal Frame Is Without A Mind.