Here, In My Solitude, I Have The

Fellini, Kurosawa, And Bunuel Move In The Same Field As Tarkovsky. Antonioni Was On His Way, But Expired, Suffocated By His Own Tediousness.

There Are Moments When I Can Wander Through My Childhood's Landscape, Through Rooms Long Ago, Remember How They Were Furnished, Where The Pictures Hung On The Walls, The Way The Light Fell. It's Like A Film - Little Scraps Of A Film, Which I Set Running And Which I Can Reconstruct To The Last Detail - Except Their Smell.

When You Die, You Are Extinguished. From Being You Will Be Transformed To Non-being. A God Does Not Necessarily Dwell Among Our Capricious Atoms.

Everything Is Worth Precisely As Much As A Belch, The Difference Being That A Belch Is More Satisfying.

First, I Write Down All I Know About The Story, At Length And In Detail. Then I Sink The Iceberg And Let Some Of It Float Up Just A Little.