Art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear
Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric.
That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.
Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.
Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.