"I cannot define art. To tell the truth, it doesn’t matter much to me! Talking about art is like talking about love. You are forever seeking the right words. You cast out a few phrases that can never be more than an approximation. An image. A fragment of a star in the black hole of your thoughts, your memory, your dream or your life.
Talking about love means saying: I love, or I love you, or I love you all. Obviously, it is not enough. So we set out to find the largest possible number of "reasons”. We hand them out around us like justifications. There is nothing new in that. Nothing original either. Loving is not original. It is simply essential. It enables you to stand up and face death when it appears.
Art is perhaps that, sometimes. A huge gale of laughter in the face of the hideous shadow of death.”