“However contradictory the coroner's report — whether he pronounces Consumption or Loneliness or Suicide to be the cause of death — isn't it plain how the true artist-seer actually dies? I say that the true artist-seer, the heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own sacred human conscience.”

“An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's.”

“It's partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think something's all true.”

“His date kept saying to him, "How horrible . . . Don't, darling. Please, don't. Not here." Imagine giving somebody a feel and telling them about a guy committing suicide at the same time! They killed me.”

“(He) looked directly into his own eyes, as though his eyes were neutral territory, a no man’s land in a private war against narcissism.”

“And I like his conceit. He's so conceited he's actually humble, the crazy bastard.”

“Yet a real artist, I've noticed, will survive anything. (Even praise, I happily suspect.)”