I would say that the masterpiece was the creative act itself and not a particular work which happened to please a large audience and be accepted as the very body of Christ.

I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked.

But about the smell of rancid butter... There are good associations too. When I think of this rancid butter I see myself standing in a little, old world courtyard, a very smelly, very dreary courtyard. Through the cracks in the shutters strange figures peer out at me.

Man has demonstrated that he is master of everything except his own nature.

If you're great, you can stay that way and people will believe in you, swear by you, turn the world upside down for you. But, if you're only partly great, or just a nobody, then what happens to you is lost.

Everybody says sex is obscene. The only true obscenity is war.

But music is very important. Music is a tonic for the pineal gland. Music isn't Bach or Beethoven; music is the can opener of the soul. It makes you terribly quiet inside, makes you aware that there's a roof to your being.