Dejan Stojanovic

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.

A smiling lie is a whirlwind, easy to enter, but hard to escape.

We love the imperfect shapes in nature and in the works of art, look for an intentional error as a sign of the golden key and sincerity found in true mastery.

From whichever side I start, I think I am in an old place where others have been before me.

In trying to be perfect, He perfected the art of anonymity, Became imperceptible And arrived nowhere from nowhere.

Sound unbound by nature becomes bounded by art.

Perfection seems sterile; it is final, no mystery in it; it's a product of an assembly line.

You not only are hunted by others, you unknowingly hunt yourself.

Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.

There is something perfect to be found in the imperfect: the law keeps balance through the juxtaposition of beauty, which gains perfection through nurtured imperfection.

Beauty is a cheap word, but beauty remains priceless.

Art is apotheosis; often, the complaint of beauty.

It is beautiful to talk about beautiful things and even more beautiful to silently gaze at them.

Nothing is made, nothing disappears. The same changes, at the same places, never stopping.

It is easy to arrange the words in a story born out of a dream; for a story without a dream, a story itself is not enough.

Into the day as by dream I swim To the music of nourished meaning.

A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams.

You ask how it is possible to be your own father and son. You should seek answers, although it is better to anticipate some, to be the light and dream.