Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one center of pain.
To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.
It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue.
Appearance blinds, whereas words reveal.
There is nothing that art cannot express.
If one plays good music, people don't listen and if one plays bad music people don't talk.