I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.

I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.

Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?

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 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.

I hope the leaving is joyful; and I hope never to return.

I love you more than my own skin.

My painting carries with it the message of pain.

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.