Regrets Are A Waste Of Time. They're

I Claim The Right To Contradict Myself. I Don't Want To Deprive Myself Of The Right To Talk Nonsense, And I Ask Humbly To Be Allowed To Be Wrong Sometimes.

Reality! But What Does This Word Mean? Each Has His Own Reality. I Draw Upon My Personal Reality Upon The Dark Side Of Myself, My Unconscious.

Realism Is A Bad Word. In A Sense Everything Is Realistic. I See No Line Between The Imaginary And The Real.

Even The Most Miserable Life Is Better Than A Sheltered Existence In An Organized Society Where Everything Is Calculated And Perfected.

Life Is A Combination Of Magic And Pasta.