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from Contradicta


Nick Piombino

To be an artist is to be forever hungry for things you have never tasted, to relentlessly search for things you have never seen and can't understand, to repeatedly and warmly welcome back the most confused, lonely and unfair part of yourself, and the world. All for the singular joy of having something you can only experience by releasing it.

Unforgettable music awakens abandoned hopes and forgotten dreams.



It's the hidden things—like enigmas in dreams—that most often remind us that choices abound.

Start at the beginning—then work back.



Happiness is divulged with few words, misery demands a mouthful.

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In today's house I am the host, but I am a guest in the dwelling of yesterday.



Pleasing everyone pleases no one.

Remember the future, forget the past.



You complain about the chip on my shoulder—I worry about the ax in your hand.

Wisdom isn't newsworthy—the media vampires drink the blood of all hopes.



Magic remains invisible and unknown because it must by discovered unconsciously and by accident. It cannot be located, only noticed.

Words descending like snowflakes or rain. A few too many and I think about shelter.



At the heart of some poems there is no meaning but at the heart of every meaning there is a poem.

What hasn't been said in what is said is the part that sings—or stings.



To treasure—that is the treasure.

If you can't find time to do everything find time to do nothing.



There can be no secrets between friends when your silence confides as much as your words.

Coincidence is a wink in the eye of eternity.



Worries are daydreams without legs, or, worry is the caterpillar, daydream the butterfly.

Joy is the giant, sadness the shadow