Why Do People Always Expect

If I Write A New Play, My Point Of View May Be Profoundly Modified. I May Be Obliged To Contradict Myself And I May No Longer Know Whether I Still Think What I Think.

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.

The Arts Are Man's Most Useless ... And Essential ... Activity.

Only The Ephemeral Is Of Lasting Value.

For Me, It Is As Though At Every Moment The Actual World Had Completely Lost Its Actuality. As Though There Was Nothing There; Asthough There Were No Foundations For Anything Or As Though It Escaped Us. Only One Thing, However, Is Vividly Present: The Constant Tearing Of The Veil Of Appearances; The Constant Destruction Of Everything In Construction. Nothing Holds Together, Everything Falls Apart.