J

I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps but other people emphasize my loneliness.

People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.

The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?

I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.

When I wrote the script, I wept on a daily basis—a lot.