John Waters Quotes

The thing is, all the stuff that people hate about the art world, I love. I embrace all the elitism. I think it’s hilarious. I love impenetrable art writing. I make fun of it, but I make fun of things I love. I don’t hate the art world at all. I find it fascinating. It’s a secret club; you have to learn the rules.

We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck them.

Not wanting anyone to pop my bubble by speaking to me, I immediately began reading Lesbian Nuns, and that did the trick. No one attempted small talk.

My hobby is extreme Catholic behavior — BEFORE the Reformation.

I'm perpetual tourist, and that's the best way to travel. Nobody gets used to you, you make new friends without having to hear anyone's everyday problems, and you jet back still feeling like a know-it-all.

A psychiatrist once told me early in treatment, “Stop trying to make me like you,” and what a sobering and welcome smack in the face that statement was. Yet somehow, every day of my life is still a campaign for popularity, or better yet, a crowded funeral.

Fantasies are like extra cash. They need to be banked for later use.

You should want to be rich at 40, at 20 you should want to kill the rich; it's the right of youth

Our assholes will be clean but we must never wash our hands. Our immune systems will be strengthened by our being dirty. Not filthy. Just mildly grimy. Filthy fingernails have always been a favorite fashion accessory of mine. Especially when you place your hands in the prayer positions. Matter of fact, I urge all my followers to forgo nail polish permanently and replace it with expertly applied soot. The nonexistent gods above will ignore our prayers better this way.

John!?” I ask in shock. This woman recognizes me? It can’t be! “How do you know my name?” I wonder out loud. Suddenly she looks nervous. “Well … you don’t recognize me?” I stare at her quizzically and she smiles sweetly and then says the one word that explains it all. “Eggs!” she cries in the most identifiable voice in the world. “EDITH!?” I scream so loud, she jumps. “Yes, honey, it’s me…,” she shyly admits. “You’re alive!?

But suppose you’re still failing, struggling unsuccessfully to find your voice? You should ask yourself, am I the only person in the world who thinks what I’m doing is important? If yes, well, you’re in trouble. You need two people to think your work is good — yourself and somebody else (not your mother). Once you have a following, no matter how limited, your career can be born, and if you make enough noise, those doors will begin to open, and then, and only then, can you soar to lunatic superiority.

To me, beauty is looks you can never forget. A face should jolt, not soothe.

Who would have ever thought a top college like RISD would invite a filth elder like myself to set an example to its students‽

"It's always up to other people to say if something is art. I hate it when people say, "I'm an artist." I think, well, I'll be the judge of that. And I don't think "artist" is a job description. It's a critique, a favorable critique, that someone else might apply to your work."

My idea of rich is that you can buy every book you ever want without looking at the price and you're never around assholes. That's the two things to really fight for in life.