What you lose in blindness is the space around you, the place where you are, and without that you might not exist. You could be nowhere at all.

France is the only place where you can make love in the afternoon without people hammering on your door.

It's surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time.

People's dreams are made out of what they do all day. The same way a dog that runs after rabbits will dream of rabbits. It's what you do that makes your soul, not the other way around.

Stop a minute, right where you are. Relax your shoulders, shake your head and spine like a dog shaking off cold water. Tell that imperious voice in your head to be still.

I don't understand how any good art could fail to be political.