Vowels are the most illuminated letters in the alphabet. Vowels are the colors and souls of poetry and speech. (1976 Penthouse interview)
PATTI SMITHI felt alien my whole life but I didn’t feel alien because of my gender. Other people made me aware of my gender.
More Patti Smith Quotes
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I’m not really a nostalgic person.
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You can’t work on that scale without trust. I learned that from working with Robert Mapplethorpe.
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Life isn’t some vertical or horizontal line — you have your own interior world, and it’s not neat.
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My father came a couple of times, but he always blamed his hearing loss on my loud amplifiers. So he didn’t come anymore, but I had his support.
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Writing is not some quiet, closet act.
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Remember, we are mortal, but poetry is not.
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I’ve lost many, many friends through natural causes, through alcohol, through drugs, through AIDS. And every time I lose a friend or a loved one, it reminds me how great life is.
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People came at me with all sorts of offers, wanting to make me into a hard-core Cher. I had no desire for any amount of money to be reformed for someone’s vision, because in the end, that’s what you got: your clay in someone else’s hands.
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I was never a singer, I can’t play any instruments, I had no training. Plus, I was brought up in a time when all the great rock stars were male. I didn’t have any template for what I was doing. I did what I did out of frustration and concern.
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I understood that in this small space of time we had mutually surrendered our loneliness and replaced it with trust.
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With the death of Robert Mapplethorpe, I had lost my main collaborator in taking photographs. So I didn’t know who to work with.
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Life is an adventure of our own design intersected by fate and a series of lucky and unlucky accidents.
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What a model of an artist was for me was an artist who worked. Picasso was the ultimate model, because the work ethic he had.
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In my low periods, I wondered what was the point of creating art. For whom? Are we animating God? Are we talking to ourselves? And what was the ultimate goal? To have one’s work caged in art’s great zoos – the Modern, the Met, the Louvre?
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I got over the loss of his desk and chair, but never the desire to produce a string of words more precious than the emeralds of Cortés.
PATTI SMITH