How Hard It Is, How Bitter It

From The Evening Breeze To This Hand On My Shoulder, Everything Has Its Truth.

Great Ideas Come Into The World As Gently As Doves.

The Day When I Am No More Than A Writer I Shall Cease To Be A Writer.

After All, I Do Not Have So Many Ways Of Proving That I Am Free. We Is Always Free At The Expense Of Someone Else. It Is A Bother,but It Is Normal.

[many Artists], Even The Greatest Ones, Are Not Sure Of Their Own Existence. So They Search For Proof, They Judge, They Condemn. It Strengthens Them, It Is The Beginnings Of Existence. They Are Alone!