Who can say they saw a whole play or read a whole book? Each has their own experience, their own play, their own book
Adam & Eve have been degraded, reduplicated forever, photocopies of photocopies, mistakes copied, magnified, augmented.
Reality, it seems, is not a flat plane, but has as many veils as an onion has skins.
For someone to be perfect, they must be real, however imperfect they are.
Nothing’s random. Even if it looks that way, it’s just because you don’t know the causes.
The silence was pregnant with noise, with muted fury, with questions the father found too disgusting to frame and with answers to which the son was incapable of giving voice.
One thing, however, is certain in life. No one survives it.
Actors," he says, "should only be superficial on the surface.
