• image1 You are the last dream of your own invention, the first nightmare of unceasing Bliss.
  • image2 To be intensely alive is just a matter of instantly dying, dying to our cherished life...
  • image3 I'm sitting here, thinking and dreaming of things eternal. They are arriving; they are of nowhere, but of somewhere, anyhow.

"You know me by my name: Pham Công Thiên.
But actually, I have no name,
I'm just a whirlwind."

"The word soulful is really dead in this world.
We are all lost souls, forever dying from day to day."

"We are constantly searching for the lost river of days past,
of hours bygone, of castles forbidden, of leaves befallen
and of a thousand years intangible.
Lo, everything we've been searching for is already there,
within our reach. We've created our fate and our fortune."

"We don't know that to be intensely alive is just a matter of
instantly dying, dying to our cherished life,
dying to our marvelous imagination,
dying to our beloved hankerings and wonderful yearnings,
dying to all childlike dreams and far-fetched summers,
dying to all blossoms of unrequited loves,
of the first autumn of the holy year."

"I don't know who I am.
A ghost of haunted mansions,
a devil that is returning to this life to revisit his old corners,
or a god that's forever condemned to retake his own
counter-being in order to recapture what he wouldn't
swallow in his past lives. I don't know.

One thing I do know is that I'm dying,
dying to the sun that is always rising every day
in the hush of Eternity, of the sour moon that is
always harassing my soul with all her empty frustrations,
of the star, the unique star which will be there some day
for the last light that never fails. Yes, everything will be there
for a new tragedy of the world."

"What's happening now?
As usual, nothing happens."

"There is nothing worth saying, nothing worth writing:
all is a great lie, a wonderful hoax, a miraculous miracle
of the sun, and of all the stars that ever existed in the cosmos."

"They are always going somewhere; some looking for their
own footsteps, others for dead seasons of their longings;
and nobody is looking for his white mountaintop somewhere
in the land of Nowhere."

"You are born like a mosquito, a marvel of divine creation,
a dying murmur of nights unspoken."

"Let go of all your fears,
everything is always perfect."