Instead of asking 'How much damage will the work in question bring about?' why not ask 'How much good? How much joy?'

Hope is a bad thing. It means that you are not what you want to be. It means that part of you is dead, if not all of you. It means that you entertain illusions. It's a sort of spiritual clap, I should say.

Honest criticism means nothing: what one wants is unrestrained passion, fire for fire.

Perhaps I have not lined his portrait too clearly. But if he exists, if only for the reason that I have imagined him to be. He came from the blue and returns to the blue. He has not perished, he is not lost. Neither will he be forgotten.

If one believes, then miracles occur.

We are dancing in the hollow of nothingness. We are one flesh, but separated like stars.

If there is to be any peace it will come through being, not having.