Over, over, there is a soft place in my heart for all that is over, no, for the being over, words have been my only loves, not many.

To restore silence is the role of objects.

To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.

To find a form that accommodates the shape of the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' You won't believe what you can accomplish by attempting the impossible with the courage to repeatedly fail better.

Memories are killing. So you must not think of certain things, of those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you don’t there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little.