But words - words are not enough!

The truth is, I can never die. For I will be in everything and see you in everything and watch over you. I am your reaction in the water of a mountain lake

I've solved the mystery: You have to submit silently. Open up, let go. Let anything penetrate you, even the most painful things. Endure. Bear up. That's the magic key! The text comes by itself, and its meaning shakes the soul. You mustn't let scar tissue form on your wounds; you have to keep ripping them open in order to turn your insides into a marvelous instrument that is capable of anything. All this has its price.

I am not the Jesus of the official church tolerated by those in power. I am not your superstar.

I knew there were, in myself, the souls of millions of people who lived centuries ago; not just people but animals, plants, the elements, things, even, matter. All of these exist in me.

The flamenco of the Gypsy has nothing to do with the flamenco for tourists. Real flamenco is like sex.

I sell myself for the highest price. Exactly like a prostitute. There is no difference.