“Who could imagine a poet wearing anything other than black?”

I want to put a soul in a garment. I don’t want my clothes to be perfect, because human beings are not perfect.

I work for men that I would love to meet, somebody who I could fall in love with, someone who intrigues me.

I just wait because I think people will find me. And I’m not the kind of person who will knock on somebody’s door. I wait. If they’re good for me, they will come towards me.

Creating is a lonely thing in a lot of ways.

For me black is not dark, it’s poetic. I don’t think of gothic I think of classic – it’s a big difference.

Black is not sad. Black is poetic.

I never leave anything behind. It’s like a history, a chain, a line of life, you just have to move and make new steps, and keep it evolving – but my soul is my soul.

Good fashion for me is like rock ‘n’ roll – there’s always a little rebellion in it.

A new time is coming both for my personal life, and the brand Ann Demeulemeester. I feel it’s time to separate our paths.

I’d like to cut an attitude into clothes.

Fashion has a right to exist, because it permits the people to define themselves over and over again.

Jewelry is something that has to do with emotion. That aspect of jewelry really interests me.

Those that think my clothes are androgynous also still believe that women should look like Barbie dolls. That’s precisely the problem, the deep-rooted assumptions about what is feminine.

I’ve always been intrigued by cutout silhouettes. They are so intriguing, so poetic-the shadow of a soul. They tell everything about a character and they are open to be filled with one’s own imagination.

Black is not sad. Bright colours are what depress me. They’re so empty. Black is poetic. How do you imagine a poet? In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.

Fashion has a reason to be, because in fashion you can find new kinds of expression about human beings. It’s my way to communicate.

I’ve changed the way I look a bit but not intentionally. I’ve cut my hair. I’ve got a bit of pink in it and lately I’ve become a bit monochrome, wearing a lot of black and white.

Blue green orange red. I could eat all the colors of the rainbow and still see life in black-and-white reruns I’ve watched a thousand times. – rumination.

I don’t like the idea of the black race being diluted out of existence. I like the idea of all of us being here.

We Negro writers, just by being black, have been on the blacklist all our lives. Censorship for us begins at the color line.

In the gates of eternity the black hand and the white hand hold each other with equal clasp.

I saw for the first time the earth’s shape. I could easily see the shores of continents, islands, great rivers, folds of the terrain, large bodies of water. The horizon is dark blue, smoothly turning to black. The feelings which filled me I can express with one word-joy.

We ought even to hold as a fixed principle that what I see white I believe to be black, if the superior authorities define it to be so.

We should always be disposed to believe that that which appears white is really black, if the hierarchy of the Church so decides.