“I paint flowers so they will not die.”

“I don't like painting flowers in my music. I like painting guts and pain”

“Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;A brittle that's broken presently;A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.And as goods lost are seld or never found,As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,As broken glass no cement can redress;So beauty blemished once, for ever lost,In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.”

“Is there a relative value of beauty? Is evanescence - fleetingness - a necessary element of the thing that most moves us? A shooting star dazzles more than the sun. A child captivates like an elf, but grows into grossness, an ogre, a harpy. A flower splays itself into color - the lilies of the field! - more treasured than any painting of a flower. But of all these things, women's grace, shooting stars, flowers, and paintings, only a painting endures.”

“I loved the flowers that die, I loved the charm of the sky.”

“Use your blood to paint. Keep painting until you faint. Keep painting until you die.”