他想，生活很短。艺术或非生命的东西很长，像混凝土蠕虫一样伸展无尽。扁平，白色，不受任何通道的平淡无奇的态度。我站在这里。但不再。
(Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand. But no longer.)