We are all born; some remain so.
I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it.
To find a form that accommodates the shape of the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.
All that is active, all that is enveloped in time and space, is endowed with what might be described as an abstract, ideal and absolute impermeability.