“I wish I didn’t have daily problems to deal with, so that I could just concentrate on learning more, every single day.”

There are an infinite number of patterns, some of which are known; those still unknown hold the key to unresolved enigmas and paradoxes.

Every one of my works, when I’m looking back, becomes some kind of solution, or something to concentrate on.

Maybe that’s why I was left out of a lot of things, or why my work was not really understood, because there was no precedent for it.

I went through about six or seven painting methods just to see what I didn’t want to do. And then I got off the wall, and went into the environment.

What I did for my last act as a painter, if you call me a painter, was to photograph the weave of the canvas, and enlarge it and enlarge it until it became like a landscape.

And I even like my own company. But when I’m alone, it’s to read or write. I’m in my thoughts. Mostly I’m learning.

Most wonderful things are unconscious.

I studied how to mine a landfill and what to plant in it. It’s fascinating because you learn a new field each time.

I never considered myself a performance artist.

I hate to put tags on things, because tags change, and they change with the requirements made on them.

So the understructure should be underrated, but strong enough to hold the earth.

Words are changing. I find that old expressions are outdated, so when I write something, I try to find a new expression that hasn’t been born yet. It’s difficult.

Something to pay attention to and maybe change direction.

If I could relive my life, what I would do is work with scientists. But not one scientist, because they’re locked into their little specializations.

And combining the two is creating this beautiful alliance between humanity and nature. That’s why my forests are mathematical expansion systems, all of them.

The tree is made by nature, mathematics by people.

You feel impacted by not having it. It’s an important part of your daily function and what you can do in a day.

We are all making a crown for Jesus out of these daily lives of ours, either a crown of golden, divine love, studded with gems of sacrifice and adoration, or a thorny crown, filled with the cruel briars of unbelief, or selfishness, and sin.

[Cultural department] understand nothing but bureaucratic daily affairs. They don’t care about culture.

I have savored to the full all the small, daily joys. The bright sunshine on the breakfast table; the smell of the air at dusk; the sound of the clock ticking; the light rains that start gently after midnight; the hour when the family come home.

There were fifty-four women and forty little boys with the Red Army prisoners, and I went daily to take care of them also.

The danger lies in forgetting what we had. The flow between generations becomes a trickle, grandchildren tape-recording grandparents’ memories on special occasions perhaps-no casual storytelling jogged by daily life.

These are moral imperatives which we must work towards and think about on a daily basis.

There being no shared daily life what with migrations, exiles, diasporas, rendings, the search for work. Or there is a shared daily life riddled with holes of silence