I may not look it, but I can be a very patient guy. And killing time is one of my specialities.

In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person's heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside.

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.

The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts.

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.

It's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky, between voyager and sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart.

Sex is an extremely subtle undertaking, unlike going to the department store on a Sunday to buy a thermos.