I started studying as an artist, but I got fed up with the fact that you can paint terrible pictures and if you explain them in an erudite way it's called great art. I thought this was rubbish.

To believe in faeries is to step into an enchanted space where the rational mind meets the irrational heart, and all things become possible.

The myths and legends about Faerie are many and diverse, and often contradictory. Only one thing is certain - that nothing is certain. All things are possible in the land of Faerie.

Not all meanings are meant to be clear at once. Some ideas take time. Some words are designed to lead us on inner journeys, with truth hidden deep inside them.

My art's not safe, I don't want it to be safe, it's not meant to be safe, its controversial, it takes you into deep areas, it's a journey, its starts off in safe areas but it gets into deep waters.

Once you step onto the fairy path, it's almost like there's no way off. You have to keep going.

The sylph is a fragment of the earth's soul in faery form.

Remember, as each man and woman is a microcosm reflecting the larger natural world, so healing of the self is also a healing for the world. As above, so below.

I feel that what you should illustrate is the space between the words. It's the betweenness, the otherness, that gives depth and dimension.

We almost need another word for fairy, that's the thing. Once people get to see what fairies' real power is, then they understand.

I always believed that the picture itself should tell the story.

Writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for wordlessness.

I'm 84 years old. Don't let the altar-boy face fool you.

Value equals benefits received for burdens endured.

It's a normal way of doing business.

Wars are always madness: all is lost in war, all is to be gained in peace.

The only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are.

Do not follow where the path may lead.

The first thing we pulled out was a lump of white gunk. “Wax,” Carter pronounced. “Fascinating.

When we stand, the Azad Hind Fauz has to be like a wall of granite; when we march, the Azad Hind Fauz has to be like a steamroller.

But even labeling a site as astronomical is an improvement, since it partially sidesteps the old stereotype of Indians being primitive and ignorant savages.