The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

Materials tell their own stories; we just have to listen.

最热烈的爱会有最冷漠的结局。

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

A great army is a great sickness.