Only The Ephemeral Is Of

Childhood Is The World Of Miracle Or Of Magic: It Is As If Creation Rose Luminously Out Of The Night, All New And Fresh And Astonishing. Childhood Is Over The Moment Things Are No Longer Astonishing. When The World Gives You A Feeling Of "déjà Vu," When You Are Used To Existence, You Become An Adult.

I Started Writing For The Theatre Because I Hated It.

The Brightest Light, The Light Of Italy, The Purest Sky Of Scandinavia In The Month Of June Is Only A Half-light When One Compares It To The Light Of Childhood. Even The Nights Were Blue.

Explanation Separates Us From Astonishment, Which Is The Only Gateway To The Incomprehensible.

Daisy: I Never Knew You Were Such A Realist-i Thought You Were More Poetic. Where's Your Imagination? There Are Many Sides To Reality. Choose The One That's Best For You. Escape Into The World Of Imagination.