And in fact, if the world is right, if this music of the cafés, these mass enjoyments and these Americanised men who are pleased with so little are right, then I am wrong, I am crazy. I am in truth the Steppenwolf that I often call myself; that beast astray who finds neither home nor joy nor nourishment in a world that is strange and incomprehensible to him.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
I understand the feeling very well…
Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation.
Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.
Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.
It seems I’ve stopped speaking with my voice. Part of me fell asleep and just watches.
God help us—for art is long, and life so short.