I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.

Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go.

Art is the method of levitation, in order to separate one's self from enslavement by the earth.

He understands my pity for his ridiculous, humiliating physical necessity.

Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.

I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.

You live out the confusions until they become clear.