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