“The universe tended towards chaos and entropy. That was basic thermodynamics. Maybe it was basic existence too.” Midnight Library

“If I had listened to the critics I'd have died drunk in the gutter.” Uncle Vanya

The artist, like the God of creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

There are a you and an I, and there is no mine and yours! For without a you and an I, there is no love, and with mine and yours there is no love but “mine” and “yours” (these possessive pronouns) are, of course, formed from a “you” and an “I” and as a consequence seem obliged to be present wherever there are a you and an I. This is indeed the case everywhere, but not in love , which is a revolution from the ground up. The more profound the revolution, the more completely the distinction “mine and yours” disappears, and the more perfect is the love. Works of Love