My first thought, as a child, was that the artist brings something into the world that didn’t exist before, and that he does it without destroying something else. A kind of refutation of the conservation...

But it seems to me that once you begin a gesture it’s fatal not to go through with it.

One does not go to Moscow to get fat.

Smaller than a breadbox, bigger than a TV remote, the average book fits into the human hand with a seductive nestling, a kiss of texture, whether of cover cloth, glazed jacket, or flexible paperback.

The world keeps ending but new people too dumb to know it keep showing up as if the fun’s just started.