Where there is true art and genuine virtuosity the artist can paint an incomparable masterpiece without leaving even a trace of his identity.
Life is beautiful if you are on the road to somewhere
What was venerated as style was nothing more than an imperfection or flaw that revealed the guilty hand.
...the endless repetition of an ordinary miracle.
Colour is the touch of the eye, Music to the deaf, A word out of darkness.
Ka thought it strangely depressing that the suicide girls had had to struggle to find a private moment to kill themselves. Even after swallowing their pills, even as they lay quietly dying, they’d had to share their rooms with others.