Yes, I'm Happy, In Human

If Nothing Had Any Meaning, You Would Be Right. But There Is Something That Still Has A Meaning.

I Am Too Much In Love With My Lies And Hypocrisies Not To Confess Them Fervently.

We Rarely Confide In Those Who Are Better Than We Are.

Without Freedom, No Art; Art Lives Only On The Restraints It Imposes On Itself, And Dies Of All Others.

The Only Really Committed Artist Is He Who, Without Refusing To Take Part In The Combat, At Least Refuses To Join The Regular Armies And Remains A Freelance.