When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we're nothing.

If I were to say what I really think I would be arrested or shut away in a lunatic asylum. Come on, I am sure that it would be the same for everyone.

They could read him, they could study him, they could pick him apart, but they couldn't laugh or be sad with him.

There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists.

I steal into their dreams," he said. "I steal into their most shameful thoughts, I'm in every shiver, every spasm of their souls, I steal into their hearts, I scrutinize their most fundamental beliefs, I scan their irrational impulses, their unspeakable emotions, I sleep in their lungs during the summer and their muscles during the winter, and all of this I do without the least effort, without intending to, without asking or seeking it out, without constraints, driven only by love and devotion.

Reading is more important than writing.

We're artists too, but we do a good job hiding it, don't we?