The New York art world readily proves people wrong. Just when folks say that things stink and flibbertigibbet critics wish the worst on us all because we're not pure enough good omens appear.

The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can and keep moving on.

To an engineer good enough means perfect. With an artist there's no such thing as perfect.

The creative act lasts but a brief moment a lightning instant of give-and-take just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box.

I'm afraid that if you look at a thing long enough it loses all of its meaning.

Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling.

In art the best is good enough.

In art as in love instinct is enough.

The nice thing about anger is that as an emotion it's strong enough to unplug me from the comedian's mind for a minute and just be a frustrated member of the citizenry.

What starts the process really are laughs and slights and snubs when you are a kid. If your anger is deep enough and strong enough you learn that you can change those attitudes by excellence personal gut performance.