That nothing is static or fixed, that all is fleeting and impermanent, is the first mark of existence. It is the ordinary state of affairs. Everything is in process. Everything - every tree, every blade of grass, all the animals, insects, human beings, buildings, the animate and the inanimate - is always changing, moment to moment.
A society must assume that it is stable, but the artist must know, and he must let us know, that there is nothing stable under heaven.
Dreams are like paper, they tear so easily.
The world has always been uncertain. This is the nature of the world.
The very concept of solid ground is a myth. The galaxy itself is adrift.
The truth is what you say it is, and that’s not a good place to be.
Reagan, Ford, Bush, Clinton
I want a nonfiction that explores our shifting, unstable, multiform, evanescent experience in and of the world.
Reflect frequently upon the instability of things, and how very fast the scenes of nature are shifted. Matter is in perpetual flux. Change is always and everywhere at work; it strikes through causes and effects, and leaves nothing fixed and permanent.
It's just a crazy damned life, that's all.
But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else.
I'd go from film to film and almost detach from one world and jump in another. I was living as these people and not having a self. I didn't know who I was. And things just get really dark.
Truth has a way of shifting under pressure.
I think that, like in my writing, reality is always a soap bubble, Silly Putty thing anyway. In the universe people are in, people put their hands through the walls, and it turns out they're living in another century entirely. I often have the feeling — and it does show up in my books — that this is all just a stage.