Half the people who snuff people, that's what they want: recognition. Get their picture in the paper.

We all, sometimes, leave each other there under the skies, and we never understand why.

A work of art is one of mystery, the one extreme magic; everything else is either arithmetic or biology.

The only obligation any artist can have is to himself. His work means nothing, otherwise. It has no meaning.

Any work of art, provided it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.

But, my dear, so few things are fulfilled: what are most lives but a series of incompleted episodes? 'We work in the dark, we do what we can, we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task...' It is wanting to know the end that makes us believe in God, or witchcraft, believe, at least, in something.

That's all a writer has to write about - what he sees and hears and what not.