Without art; without paintings, books, sculpture and music, the human soul would be quite impenetrable, don't you think?

Without art; without paintings, books, sculpture and music, the human soul would be quite impenetrable, don't you think?

We are all eccentrics in our dreams. Lunatics, even.

Books aren’t just my defenses, the sandbags I use to fortify my position; they are also the building blocks of my soul, and I am the sum of all I read.

Maybe other people are like mirrors that we see ourselves in; versions of ourselves that vary dramatically depending on the particular cut of glass.

It is said that life is too short, and that’s quite true, unless you are lonely. Loneliness can bring time to its knees; an absolute and utter standstill.

I don’t think we ever really live in the present; instead, we’re either just this side of the past or future, wavering anxiously between anticipation and recollection. That’s where I lived my life, always wanting, longing, wishing.