“These rocks are a release for my pent-up emotions. When I feel all tied up inside, I just stand here and throw rocks into that vacant lot!""Hello, Charlie Brown, you blockhead!""Sometimes I think I'm kind of a vacant lot myself...”

“Whatever art offered the men and women of previous eras, what it offers our own, it seems to me, is space - a certain breathing room for the spirit. The town I grew up in had many vacant lots; when I go back now, the vacant lots are gone. They were a luxury, just as tigers and rhinoceri, in the crowded world that is making, are luxuries. Museums and bookstores should feel, I think, like vacant lots - places where the demands on us are our own demands, where the spirit can find exercise in unsupervised play.”

“Although I didn't think so at the time, things were a lot simpler in 1969. All you had to do to express yourself was throw rocks at riot police. But with today's sophistication, who's in a position to throw rocks? Who's going to brave what tear gas? C'mon, that's the way it is. Everything is rigged, tied into that massive capital web, and beyond this web there's another web. Nobody's going anywhere. You throw a rock and it'll come right back at you.”

“You’re not making a whole lot of sense.”“I am in my head,” I mutter. What does he need me to do here? Stand up on the table and yell, “Hello! Hot guy! I’m into you!”

“Museums and bookstores should feel, I think, like vacant lots - places where the demands on us are our own demands, where the spirit can find exercise in unsupervised play.”

“Why did you write "Charlie Brown is a blockhead" on the sidewalk?""Because I sincerely believe you are a blockhead! I have to write what I believe is true... It's my moral respolsibility!""Deep down I admire her integrity...”