Life, religion and art all converge in Bali. They have no word in their language for 'artist' or 'art.' Everyone is an artist.

Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.

I sat there for three hours and did not feel the time or the boredom of our talk and its foolish disconnection. As long as I could hear his voice, I was quite lost, quite blind, quite outside my own self.

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

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ

I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds.

Truth is something which can't be told in a few words. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.