His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.

My life is not possible to tell. I change every day, change my patterns, my concepts, my interpretations. I am a series of moods and sensations. I play a thousand roles. I weep when I find others play them for me. My real self is unknown. My work is merely an essence of this vast and deep adventure.

I have this weird obsession about buying books and looking at them with a smile, even if I won't read them soon. At least they are mine now.

Sometimes we reveal ourselves when we are least like ourselves.

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.

I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason.

There is an ugliness in being paid for work one does not like.