Everything, everything seemed once-upon-a-time.

My imagination is a kind of animal. So what I do is keep it alive.

You can hide as cleverly as you like, but in the final analysis mimicry is deception, pure and simple. It doesn't solve a thing.

Time moves in it special way in the middle of the night.

Not that running away's going to solve everything. I don't want to rain on your parade or anything, but I wouldn't count on escaping this place if I were you. No matter how far you run. Distance might not solve anything.

Taking crazy things seriously is a serious waste of time.

Sheep hurt my father, and through my father, sheep have also hurt me.