The Sense Of Truth No Matter How

I Suppose The Secret Of His Success Is In His Tremendous Idleness Which Almost Approaches The Supernatural.

The Heaviest Impact Of The Work Of Art Is In The Guts. Art Does Not Reason. It Manhandles You And Changes You.

I Am Quite Alone. I Am Neither Happy Nor Unhappy; I Lie Suspended Like A Hair Or A Feather In The Cloudy Mixtures Of Memory.

There Is No Pain Compared To That Of Loving A Woman Who Makes Her Body Accessible To One And Yet Who Is Incapable Of Delivering Her True Self -- Because She Does Not Know Where To Find It.

Does Not Everything Depend On Our Interpretation Of The Silence Around Us?