“I wish art was like money in that the more I made, the more interest it developed and plentiful it became. Money makes money, and if art made art, there’s no prison in this country that could hold my creations.”

“I make art like I make love—slowly, so I get the most for my money.”

“Art books are filled with interesting images. And that’s cool and all, but I look more for the nudes.”

“As a way for both of us to make money, I’ll hold you hostage, while at the same time, you’ll be holding me hostage,” I said to Orafoura.
“Won’t the ransom money you pay to me cancel out the money I’ll pay to you?” Orafoura said. 
“Not if I shoot you first. Then I’ll have all the ransom money!”

“War is fought over futile and feudal things. War is not about ideology, no matter how artfully framed, but it’s simply about power and money and control.”

“What is art? Art is tar, rearranged. Art is tar on canvas or tar on tarp or tar on a naked body. Art is a bird chirping changed into something visual. Art is an image of a thousand beaks breaking into the office of a quack doctor. I know that doctor, and I've personally spoken to ten of those beaks. Art is rhythm, two hands clapping at a urinal while a third shakes off pee to the beat. Good art stays with you your whole life, especially if that good art is a tattoo. Good art is my name, written backwards, inked on your upper lip in a furry font. Art imitates life, just as life imitates Orafoura. Art can be anything from a Manet to a Monet to a painting of money to a missile. Art can save the world, or devastate it. (We could drop another big bomb on Japan, though I'm not advocating dumping Basquiat paintings on Hiroshima). Art rhymes with a bodily function, and everybody should let their creativity rip everywhere from the privacy of their bathrooms to small heated boxes with four of their closest friends. Art is thinking outside that box, and desperately trying to escape.”

“I wish I could sculpt my shadow into my night clone, and it could be out earning me money while I slept, instead of being folded up neatly in my underwear drawer like it is now.
”