I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.
I don’t paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.
This above all: To thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. (“Hamlet”)
I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am. (“The Bell Jar”)
Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.
Why should we talk about me? Don’t you think I’ve done enough in my three books of memoirs?
A little me goes a long way.
Self-expression is a hallmark of an artist, of art, to get something off one’s chest, to sing one’s song. So that element is present in all art. And comedy, although it is not one of the fine arts—it’s a vulgar art, it’s one of the people’s arts, it’s the spoken word, the writing that goes […]
I have always been that type, “Don’t tell me what I won’t do.”
When you’re fully accepting of who you are, and you stop trying to suppress pieces of yourself, you can conquer the world. I love how silly I am. I love how excitable I am. And I love that I’m finally at a place where I can access those things. Even the quirky stuff that might […]