“Without music, life would be a mistake.”

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.

There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.

Invisible threads are the strongest ties.

One must give value to their existence by behaving as if ones very existence were a work of art.

The thought of suicide is a great consolation: by means of it one gets through many a dark night.

Silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.

The most perfidious way of harming a cause consists of defending it deliberately with faulty arguments.

After coming into contact with a religious man I always feel I must wash my hands.

There are no facts, only interpretations.

Is man merely a mistake of God’s? Or God merely a mistake of man?

The voice of beauty speaks softly; it creeps only into the most fully awakened souls.

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

Convictions are more dangerous foes of truth than lies.

Art is the proper task of life.

I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.

I have two lovely sons and some good memories, but I’ve had a rather tumultuous personal life. It hasn’t been dull; I’ve been the Hiroshima of love.

I just got one last thing, I urge all of you, all of you, to enjoy your life, the precious moments you have. To spend each day with some laughter and some thought, to get you’re emotions going.

Some of the greatest moments in life come from moments that are incomplete.

Use your gifts faithfully, and they shall be enlarged; practice what you know, and you shall attain to higher knowledge.

When American life is most American it is apt to be most theatrical.

Advice? I don’t offer advice. Not my business. Your life is what you make it.

And I knew that it was better to live out one’s absurdity than to die for that of others.

With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish ’twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern.