“Reserve the language of sculpture for the art of sculpture. Lest you confuse beauty with the shape of a jaw or art with the size of a stomach.”

I see myself through your eyes and I love what I see. So please never look way.

Hope is a drug that makes fear little quieter.

I asked you where you were my whole life and you told me that you were waiting for me.

There is no such thing as a summer body. Your beauty is not seasonal, it is perennial. Your body need not change for your skin to enjoy the sun.

A fraction of an ounce of kindness from you was enough for me to fall.

The eye of the storm is the stillest part. There is calm at the centre of a cyclone. There is hush in the middle of a hurricane. The window of joy we shared was the eye of our storm.

Each Act of kindness is a seat filled at your funeral, a tear dropped upon your death.

A problem shared is a problem divided. A tragedy shared is a tragedy multiplied.

You ask me what is love and I’ll tell you I know not. You ask me if I’ve loved and I’ll tell you I once did. You ask me how I know I’ve loved and I’ll tell you I just know.

You’ve changed. And for that I’m proud. My loyalty is to you always. Not just the person I met.

Lost in a conversation is something I can never feel with you. For I’ve never felt more found than when speaking to you.

I unravel my future as I weave it with my past.

Hundreds of thousands of years of evolutionary training forgotten when I expose that vulnerable flesh to you.

In an age so connected why do I feel so far apart?

When a mother asks for a second child her body forgets the pain of the first. When I give you a second chance my heart is being forgetful.

Show me an example of perfection and I will show you a lie.

Dramatic art in her opinion is knowing how to fill a sweater.

The out-of-work actor wears out more than shoe leather. The very sensibilities that make him an artist are shattered by the disregard he is shown as a human being.

To invoke solely the weaker arguments and yet triumph is an art worth more than a hundred thousand drachmae.

Art and psychoanalisis give shape and meaning to life and that’s why we adore them. However, life as it is lived has no shape nor meaning, and that’s what I am experiencing right now.

Art should never be an answer but a question.

Let each man exercise the art he knows.

I remember growing up, saying you’re an artist it sounds pretentious but now it’s one of the only dignified things that you can call yourself.

I felt like ‘Owl Pharoah,’ not everyone understood who I was as an artist.