Hands, do what you're bid: Bring the balloon of the mind That bellies and drags in the wind Into its narrow shed.

I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.

We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but h…

When have I last looked on The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies Of the dark leopards of the moon? All the wild witches, those most noble ladies, F…

Appealing workplaces are to be avoided. One wants a room with no view, so imagination can meet memory in the dark. When I furnished this study seven years ago,…

My work is a game, a very serious game.

A cartoonist is someone who has to draw the same thing day after day without repeating himself.