The answer is dreams. Dreaming on and on. Entering the world of dreams and never coming out. Living in dreams for the rest of time.

There had to be something wrong with my life. I should have been born a Yugoslavian shepherd who looked up at the Big Dipper every night.

Mediocrity's like a spot on a shirt—it never comes off.

The light of morning decomposes everything.

Everyone who has something is afraid of losing it, and people with nothing are worried they'll forever have nothing. Everyone is the same.

In the world we live in, what we know and what we don't know are like Siamese twins, inseparable, existing in a state of confusion.

I’m me, and at the same time not me. That’s what it felt like. A very still, quiet feeling.