It´s a good thing when a man is different from your image of him. Is shows he isn´t a type. If he were, it would be the end of him as a man. But if you can´t place him in a category, it means that at least a part of him is what a human being ought to be. He has risen above himself, he has a grain of immortality.

Literature is the art of discovering something extraordinary about ordinary people, and saying with ordinary words something extraordinary.

Art is interested in life at the moment when the ray of power is passing through it.

You fall into my arms. You are the good gift of destruction's path, When life sickens more than disease And boldness is the root of beauty - Which draws us together.

I have been writing in spurts, bit by bit. It is incredibly difficult. Everything is corroded, broken, dismantled; everything is covered with hardened layers of accumulated insensitivity, deafness, entrenched routine. It is disgusting.

Man is born to live, not to prepare for life.

How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?