“Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.”

We are all born crazy. Some remain that way.

Dear incomprehension, it’s thanks to you I’ll be myself, in the end.

The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.

The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.

Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.

Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.

With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.

Art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear

People are bloody ignorant apes.

Better hope deferred than none.

All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.

Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.

To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.

There’s never an end for the sea.

My mistakes are my life.

Find what you can do best that renders service to others and do it with all your might.

Blondes make the best victims. They’re like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints.

I prefer that Argentina wins the World Cup. Messi deserves it for all he has done in football. He’s my friend, I wish him the best.

I would almost say that the best screen actor is the man who can do nothing extremely well.

To be the best and stay there, sweat is necessary.

When the days are too short, chances are you are living at your best.

Never settle for anything less than your best.

All I know is I’ve tried my best.