I Think I Have Made Just One

We Walk In Circles, So Limited By Our Own Anxieties That We Can No Longer Distinguish Between True And False, Between The Gangster's Whim And The Purest Ideal.

I Could Always Live In My Art But Never In My Life

I Am Conscious About Myself And Everything, And Then Suddenly, Or Slowly, My Conscious Fades Out. Switches Off. And It's Not Existing, And That's A Marvelous Feeling. That From Existing, I Am Not Existing. And At That Moment, Nothing Can Happen To Me.

No Form Of Art Goes Beyond Ordinary Consciousness As Film Does, Straight To Our Emotions, Deep Into The Twilight Room Of The Soul.

One Has To Manage Alone As Best One Can. (karin Bergman)