Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' You won't believe what you can accomplish by attempting the impossible with the courage to repeatedly fail better.
The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.
Words are the clothes thoughts wear.
You're on earth. There's no cure for that.
Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
Nothing is more real than nothing.
If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.
We are all born crazy. Some remain that way.
Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing that divides the world in two, on the one side the outside, on the other the inside, that can be as thin as foil, I'm neither one side nor the other, I'm in the middle, I'm the partition, I've two surfaces and no thickness, perhaps that's what I feel, myself vibrating, I'm the tympanum, on the one hand the mind, on the other the world, I don't belong to either.
We all are born mad. Some remain so.
I am still alive then. That may come in useful.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
The essential doesn't change.
Better hope deferred than none.
If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.
What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.
Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.
All has not been said and never will be.
For to know nothing is nothing, not to want to know anything likewise, but to be beyond knowing anything, to know you are beyond knowing anything, that is when peace enters in, to the soul of the incurious seeker.
Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.
To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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