No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.

The situation is that of him who is helpless, cannot act, in the event cannot paint, since he is obliged to paint. The act is of him who, helpless, unable to act, acts, in the event paints, since he is obliged to paint.

We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.

Birth was the death of him.

Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.

VLADIMIR: What do they say? ESTRAGON: They talk about their lives. VLADIMIR: To have lived is not enough for them. ESTRAGON: They have to talk about it.

In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.