Love points the way. Desire is its ignorant advisor.
After all, when you take a walk you're after solitude, and if the solitude won't come to you, you must go to it.
I do not want to have the feeling of writing "for eternity," so to speak.
I think isolation is one of the greatest problems, an ever-growing obstacle to political solidarity.
He lies like a book. And he reads a lot of books.
Strictly speaking, there are no holidays for art; art pursues you everywhere, and that's just fine with the artist.