When silence is prolonged over a certain period of time, it takes on new meaning.

Suddenly the full long wail of a ship's horn surged through the open window and flooded the dim room—a cry of boundless, dark, demanding grief; pitch-black and glabrous as a whale's back and burdened with all the passions of the tides, the memory of voyages beyond counting, the joys, the humiliations: the sea was screaming.

Possessing by letting go of things was a secret of ownership unknown to youth.

The only people in this world I really trust are my fans - even if they do forget you so fast.

It seems to me that before the photograph can exist as art it must, by its very nature choose whether it is to be a record or a testimony.

Is there not a sort of remorse that precedes sin? Was it remorse at the very fact that I existed?

The most appropriate type of daily life for me was a day-by-day world destruction; peace was the most difficult and abnormal state to live in.