Each of us has his own alphabet with which to create poetry.

He had always loved God. In his darkest hours he cried out, "God did not create us to abandon us.

You cannot be firmly certain about anything. You can only have enough courage and strength to do what you consider to be right. Maybe it turns out that was wrong, but still you would have done his, and it is most important.

Being mad is even pleasant. But only a madman understands that.

He had been standing still; for an artist, one of the more painful forms of death.

Our secret thoughts - do they ever show up? The small flame of our soul can be burning hot, but no one comes to its warmth. Passersby see only a small whiff going through the chimney. Don't we need to take care of that flame, cherish it and patiently wait until someone will come and sit at it, do we?

Life's not so bad after all. There are not only poison but also antidotes.