"Everyone’s living in their own little world. When I was 15 or 16 at school, I used to talk with my mates and we’d say: ‘As soon as we leave, we’ll be down in London, doing something nobody else is doing.’ Then I used to work in a factory, and I was really happy because I could daydream all day. All I had to do was push this wagon with cotton things in it up and down. But I didn’t have to think. I could think about the weekend, imagine what I was going to spend my money on, which LP I was going to buy… You can live in your own little world."
"Isn’t it funny? I’m enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that’s something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It’s hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but hatred cradles you."
"Do you ever feel that way?”
“Restless. As if you haven’t really met yourself yet. As is you’d passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - ‘Ah! There I Am! I’ve been missing that piece!’ But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it."
"Art is the activity that exalts and denies simultaneously. ‘No artist tolerates reality,’ says Nietzsche. That is true, but no artist can get along without reality. Artistic creation is a demand for unity and a rejection of the world. But it rejects the world on account of what it lacks and in the name of what it sometimes is."