That is the artist's job: take mineral rock from dark silent earth, transform it into shining light-reflecting form from sky.

She makes life over, he realized. She controls life, whereas I just sit on my can and let it happen to me.

How much of what we call 'reality' is actually out there or rather within our own head?

You're killing yourself with cynicism. Your idols got taken away from you one by one and now you have nothing to give your love to.

There is evil! It's actual, like cement. I can't believe it. I can't stand it. Evil is not a view ... it's an ingredient in us. In the world. Poured over us, filtering into our bodies, minds, hearts, into the pavement itself.

The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.

Everything in life is just for a while.