“I always thought I’d like my own tombstone to be blank. No epitaph, and no name. Well, actually, I’d like it to say ‘figment.’”

The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.

People should fall in love with their eyes closed.

The reason I’m painting this way is that I want to be a machine, and I feel that whatever I do and do machine-like is what I want to do.

I wonder if it’s possible to have a love affair that lasts forever.

Success is when the checks don’t bounce.

But I always say, one’s company, two’s a crowd, and three’s a party

Pop art is about liking things.

I’ve never met a person I’ve couldn’t call a beauty.

When people are ready to, they change. They never do it before then, and sometimes they die before they get around to it. You can’t make them change if they don’t want to, just like when they do want to, you can’t stop them.

A picture means I know where I was every minute. That’s why I take pictures. It’s a visual diary.

Everybody winds up kissing the wrong person good-night.

I wanted to paint nothing. I was looking for something that was the essence of nothing, and the soup can was it.

If you’re not trying to be real, you don’t have to get it right. That’s art.

Fantasy love is much better than Reality Love.

Since I was shot, everything is such a dream to me. Like I don’t know whether I’m alive or whether I died. I wasn’t afraid before. And having been dead once, I shouldn’t feel fear. But I am afraid. I don’t understand why.

Art is what you can get away with.

No wonder I got blank stares at “rabbi got faint at sight of blood.”

Blank cartridges should never be used against a mob, nor should a volley be fired over the heads of the mob even if there is little danger of hurting persons in the rear. Such things will be regarded as an admission of weakness, or an attempt to bluff, and may do more harm than good.

I try to block out everything that distracts me. Even a big play, I blank it out.

My eyes went blank, and I stared off, and the music started. It was raining, and the sun was shining at the same time.

If they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in creation than the words: Byron is dead!

Ignorance is a blank sheet, on which we may write; but error is a scribbled one, on which we must first erase.

I want an infinitely blank book and the rest of time.

It’s so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.