The art of living is based on rhythm - on give & take, ebb & flow, light & dark, life & death. By acceptance of all aspects of life, good & bad, right & wrong, yours & mine, the static, defensive life, which is what most people are cursed with, is converted into a dance, 'the dance of life,' metamorphosis.

We should not stop to reflect, compare, analyze, possess, but flow on and through, endlessly, like music.

Every man with a bellyful of the classics is an enemy to the human race.

And what is the potential man, after all? Is he not the sum of all that is human? Divine, in other words?

Until it is kindled by a spirit as flamingly alive as the one which gave it birth a book is dead to us. Words divested of their magic are but dead hieroglyphs.

Destiny is what you are supposed to do in life. Fate is what kicks you in the ass to make you do it.

I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.