The world wasn’t created for our happiness. It’s difficult to say whether we’re happy or not. It doesn’t depend on us. Sure, we can regret being born. But life can give us surprising things. The issue of happiness doesn’t exist for me. Happiness does not exist.

I don’t know what it means to hear myself speak. I wouldn’t recognise my own voice. I’ve never said anything.

Predestination. We’re getting ready for something. – but what? We’re being prepared – for what? I’ve never said a single word.

I’ve never spoken. This isn’t speech. As a child – I was immortal and all was feasible. Possibility? My childhood is beside me.

Art exists because the world isn’t perfect. A man wouldn’t look for harmony, but simply live in it. The search for harmonic relationships between art and life. between time and history.

I’ve ceased being happy now I understand life. As a child, I might have been happy. We don’t believe in nature, in our selves. We don’t have any time to think. We’re not emotional. We don’t contemplate. Children and animals are closer to the truth. We all like children more than adults. I’ve always thought that what I say and do is someone else’s decision. If we allowed ourselves, we could love the others. We could feel love for people. For life itself.

If I’m disgusted with myself, I’m disgusted with everyone. I’m disgusted with life. I’m too intolerant. I feel no sympathy. People annoy me. I’m not cheerful. The world is full of insoluble problems. This is no time for laughing. When I laugh, I feel guilty. I can’t approach people. Everyone annoys me. There’s stupidity everywhere.

When I read I feel ashamed. I can’t read. Even as I read, I can’t read. I’m too stupid. I keep on dreaming the same thing. When I am a child again. And everything lies before me. And everything’s possible. Life seems forced upon us. We made mistakes in the past. We should have lived differently.

Tarkovsky, interviewed somewhere