“Passion is the bridge that takes you from pain to change.”

I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.

My blood is a miracle that, from my veins, crosses the air in my heart into yours.

They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.

Everyone’s opinions about things change over time. Nothing is constant. Everything changes. And to hold onto some dogged idea forever is a little rigid and maybe naive.

My painting carries with it the message of pain.

They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are a bourbon biscuit.

I hope the leaving is joyful; and I hope never to return.

Sexism and racism are parallel problems. You can compare them in some ways, but they’re not at all the same. But they’re both symptoms inside the white male power structure.

At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.

I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.

I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you.

What I wanted to express very clearly and intensely was that the reason these people had to invent or imagine heroes and gods is pure fear. Fear of life and fear of death.

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.

I wish I could do whatever I liked behind the curtain of madness.

Walls turned sideways are bridges.

Work for what you believe in, but pick your battles, and don’t burn your bridges.

Instead of building walls, we can help build bridges.

In times of crisis, the wise build bridges while the foolish barriers.

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.

Aptitude for listening urges us to create bridges of communication.

Don’t let bridges you cross be bridges you burn.

When your army has crossed the border, you should burn your boats and bridges, in order to make it clear to everybody that you have no hankering after home.