The poet’s voice is the voice of the outsider looking in.

The only real failure in life is not to be true to the best one knows.

The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.

我不是为当下做音乐，我是为未来做音乐。