Art Is A Person's Private

A Man Must Fill His Life With Meaning, Meaning Is Not Automatically Given To Life.

Something That Is Yours Forever Is Never Precious

A Writer Is A Strange Instrument Of Our Species, A Harp Of Sorts, Fine-tuned To The Dark Contradictions Of Life.

We Live Less Than The Time It Takes To Blink An Eye, If We Measure Our Lives Against Eternity. So It May Be Asked What Value Is There To A Human Life. There Is So Much Pain In The World. What Does It Mean To Have To Suffer So Much, If Our Lives Are Nothing More Than The Blink Of An Eye?...i Learned A Long Time Ago, Reuven, That A Blink Of An Eye In Itself Is Nothing; But The Eye That Blinks, That Is Something.

I Do Not Know What Evil Is When It Comes To Art. I Only Know What Is Good Art And What Is Bad Art.