Only Reality Interests Me Now And I

When I Make My Drawings... The Path Traced By My Pencil On The Sheet Of Paper Is, To Some Extent, Analogous To The Gesture Of A Man Groping His Way In The Darkness.

Failure Is My Best Friend. If I Succeeded, It Would Be Like Dying. Maybe Worse.

The Human Face Is As Strange To Me As A Countenance, Which, The More One Looks At It, The More It Closes Itself Off And Escapes By The Steps Of Unknown Stairways.

In A Burning Building I Would Save A Cat Before A Rembrandt.

Taste For Things Of The Past Evolves, Doesn't It? What Was A Masterpiece A Hundred Years Ago Is No Longer So Today.