The oaths of a woman I inscribe on water.
Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real.
It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt, It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills, It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter.
There's more to life than physical and material.
According to quantum field theory, fields alone are real. They are the substance of the universe and not 'matter'. Matter is simply the momentary manifestation of interacting fields which, intangible and insubstantial as they are, are the only real things in the universe.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.
I'm not a materialistic person, to be honest. I'm all about the energy, man. I never had anything growing up, so I don't know what it means to lose anything.
Music is feeling. You can try to verbalize it. It really just hits you or it doesn't.
My painting is visible images which conceal nothing... they evoke mystery and indeed when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question 'What does that mean'? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable.
When you can't put your finger on it, that's the most exciting stuff.
Thought is invisible nature.
In the theater, everything is ephemeral. Everything is almost weightless and without a very clear definition of how you made it.
We are more than just flesh and bones. There's a certain spiritual nature and something of the mind that we can't measure. We can't find it. With all our sophisticated equipment, we cannot monitor or define it, and yet it's there.
Invisible things are the only realities; invisible things alone are the things that shall remain.
I think we have to believe in things we don't see. That's really important for all of us, whether it's your religion or Santa Claus, or whatever. That's pretty much what it's about.
You can't mass produce somebody's heart and soul. It's a very delicate thing.
Nic's Charlie is something very particular. You can't really put them together. It's a phantasm.
Where all is but dream, reasoning and arguments are of no use, truth and knowledge nothing.
I believe in good. It is an ephemeral and elusive quality. It is the center of my beliefs, but it cannot be strengthened by talking about it.
The longer you look at an object, the more abstract it becomes, and, ironically, the more real.
It is far more difficult to murder a phantom than a reality.
The stuff you bring back from dreams is free.
The more you know about Bob Dylan, the less you know. A truly enigmatic artist, Mr. Dylan's work and life offer vaporous handholds, explanations, and instructions. Attempt to grasp them, and they will only dissipate and re-form into another contexture or idea.
You can't find the soul with a scalpel.
