But it was not the room’s disorder which was frightening; it was the fact that when one began searching for the key to this disorder, one realized that it was not to be found in any of the usual places. For this was not a matter of habit or circumstance or temperament; it was a matter of punishment and grief.

The artistic image is not intended to represent the thing itself, but, rather, the reality of the force the thing contains.

You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.

Man cannot live by profit alone.

This is the charged, the dangerous moment, when everything must be re-examined, must be made new, when nothing at all can be taken for granted.

I am aware that no man is a villain in his own eyes.

I'm beginning to think that maybe everything that happens makes sense. Like, if it didn't make sense, how could it happen?