“The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know.”
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I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything.
It is not love that is blind, but jealousy.
History is an endless repetition of the wrong way of living.
For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential - the imagination.
