But my memories are like a fire in winter—whenever I'm cold I can warm my hands at them. —Ditta
"When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability... To be alive is to be vulnerable."
We have much to be judged on when he comes, slums and battlefields and insane asylums, but these are the symptoms of our illness and the result of our failures in love.
When the bright angel dominates, out comes a great work of art, a Michelangelo David or a Beethoven symphony.
I like the fact that in ancient Chinese art the great painters always included a deliberate flaw in their work: human creation is never perfect.
Artistic temperament sometimes seems a battleground, a dark angel of destruction and a bright angel of creativity wrestling.
