“Secret thinker sometimes listening aloud.”

I find it easier to write in these little vignettes; if I try to get any more heavy, I find myself out of my league.

All art is unstable. Its meaning is not necessarily that implied by the author. There is no authoritative voice. There are only multiple readings.

I’m always amazed that people take what I say seriously. I don’t even take what I am seriously.

I think fame itself is not a rewarding thing. The most you can say is that it gets you a seat in restaurants.

I’m not sure whether it is me changing my mind, or whether I lie a lot.

I suspect that dreams are an integral part of existence, with far more use for us than we’ve made of them…The fine line between the dream state and reality is at times, for me, quite grey.

I’m regarded quite asexually by a lot of people. And the people that understand me the best are nearer to what I understand about me.

I re-invented my image so many times that I’m in denial that I was originally an overweight Korean woman.

I’m very shy. That’s probably one of the reasons I got so heavily into drugs.

It was fun to be clever.

You should turn around at the end of the day and say I really like that piece of work, or that piece of work sucked. Not, was that popular or wasn’t it popular?

Look up here, I’m in heaven.

It’s a compulsive need to wreck everything. You might notice there’s a pattern of stripping down and building back up again throughout my life. But I guess that’s how some of us conduct our lives.

It makes me sad when I see artists who come alive when they go onstage, because, gee, I really come alive when I’m home.

I think the only music I didn’t listen to was country and western, and that holds to this day.

I find only freedom in the realms of eccentricity.

Talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud.

It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved.