Maar ik creëer niet, ik onderga. -- but I do not create, I undergo.
there is no universal rule for beauty. If we must speak of rules in this respect, we mustn’t be surprised to find as many rules as there are people in this world!
and now i am back in the grey world where it tastes like plastic, the monotony is buzzing through my jaws and the boredom is pulling my hair.
That throbbing thing in my chest can hardly be called a heart. It has been wrung out and deformed into something merely functional. Nothing can revive it.
What could ever tempt me to share my pain? Why willingly increase it by coming close to another human being, inevitable causing severe damage with the sharp edges of my broken heart?
There’s always books. And the wind through trees.
Music itself has taught me never to underestimate a mistake, for, in the midst of all, it’s often in that mistake where the realm of the unexpected creation is hidden.
At times, I get to look music in the face and I can’t help to either cry or blush a little every time I do.
For the minority, what else is democracy than dictatorship?
You know that feeling of relief as soon as you wake up from a bad dream? That is what I feel as soon as I fall asleep.
i am an exile in my own life.
Such dreams provide this temporary illusion of a life that has meaning.
I love it when there’s nothing Left to see but tiny spots of what’s still light Stories piercing the night.
When I am awake, I sleep, but when I dream I come to life.
Temporary? Time is temporary. -- Tijdelijk? Tijd is tijdelijk.
To think that two bodies, crooked by life into question marks, when encountering one another did not form a heart.. To do that, all we needed was to look each other in the eye. But you looked away.
Here's to the death of a disposable heart.
Trust isn’t something you can just one day decide to have. Trust cannot be fabricated out of thin air, no matter how one’s will is set to it. Trust has to be earned. And there’s the tragedy of it, the dependency on the other, who is often not u...
it’s miraculous how the shallow can injure in such a profound way.
te midden van kleuren verwrongen doch schijnbaar leeftijdloos bevind ik mij schouder aan schouder met de tijd haar schaterlach weerkaatst tegen de muren van het eindeloze verstart de wijzers voor een ogenblik ongemerkt verbleekt wat eens was zo blijk...
