At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.
You deserve a lover who wants you disheveled, with everything and all the reasons that wake you up in a haste and the demons that won’t let you sleep. You deserve a lover who makes you feel safe, who can consume this world whole if he walks hand in hand with you; someone who believes that his embraces are a perfect match with your skin. You deserve a lover who wants to dance with you, who goes to paradise every time he looks into your eyes and never gets tired of studying your expressions. You deserve a lover who listens when you sing, who supports you when you feel shame and respects your freedom; who flies with you and isn’t afraid to fall. You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry.
I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.
Feet, what do I need them for If I have wings to fly.
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.
There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley, and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.
I am in agreement with everything my father taught me and nothing my mother taught me.
I am happy to be alive, as long as I can paint.
I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.
I find that Americans completely lack sensibility and good taste. They are boring, and they all have faces like unbaked rolls.
The most important part of the body is the brain. Of my face, I like the eyebrows and eyes. Aside from that, I like nothing. My head is too small.
I put on the canvas whatever comes into my mind.
I was a child who went about in a world of colors... My friends, my companions, became women slowly; I became old in instants.
Painting completed my life.
The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.
I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.
Since my subjects have always been my sensations, my states of mind and the profound reactions that life has been producing in me, I have frequently objectified all this in figures of myself, which were the most sincere and real thing that I could do in order to express what I felt inside and outside of myself.
I don't know how to write love letters.
Of the opposite sex, I have the moustache and, in general, the face.
I am my own muse, the subject I know best.