Let's have days and days of brilliant clarity, etched and limpid, cool and surgical.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
The flesh and bone leg is just beautiful. It's elegant. You know, when it's working, it's incredible. But if it's not working, well, you know, your life is certainly far from over.
Today I would say, 'I am against plastic surgery.' It's a grave act. An act that touches our soul. It was frightening.
In judging of a beautiful statue, the aesthetic faculty is absolutely and completely gratified by the splendid curves of those marble lips that are dumb to our complaint, the noble modelling of those limbs that are powerless to help us.
At heart, I'm a reconstructive surgeon.
I unfortunately had a lot of medical procedures throughout my life, so I decided to paint all of my surgeries as a way to heal and as a way to grow.
I would like to see the day when somebody would be appointed surgeon somewhere who had no hands, for the operative part is the least part of the work.
It is the false shame of fools to try to conceal wounds that have not healed.
When there's no place for the scalpel, words are the surgeon's only tool.
Perfection has one grave defect: it is apt to be dull.
Let me alone: I have yet my legs and one arm. Tell the surgeon to make haste and his instruments. I know I must lose my right arm, so the sooner it's off the better.