I adore art. when I am alone with my notes, my heart pounds and the tears stream from my eyes, and my emotion and my joys are too much to bear.
The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect.
Truth is not a single point but a constellation of perspectives.
爱,爱,爱,那是天才的灵魂。