Annie Dillard
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. ― Annie Dillard, The Writing Life (Harper Perennial, November 12, 2013)
Category: Art
Alain de Botton
It is perhaps when our lives are at their most problematic that we are likely to be most receptive to beautiful things. — Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness (Pantheon; First Edition, October 3, 2006)
Vincent van Gogh
I have… a terrible need… shall I say the word?… of religion. Then I go out at night and paint the stars. —Vincent van Gogh
Patti Smith
Perhaps there is no past or future, only the perpetual present that contains this trinity of memory. — Patti Smith, M Train (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015)
William Blake
In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors. ― William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Composed between 1790 and 1793, in the period immediately after the French Revolution.
Gaston Bachelard
Every corner in a house, every angle in a room, every inch of secluded space in which we like to hide, or withdraw into ourselves, is a symbol of solitude. […] Also, in many respects, a corner that is “lived in” tends to reject and restrain, even to hide, life. The corner becomes a negation… Continue reading Gaston Bachelard
Elizabeth Kostova
She can’t really love anyone, you know, and in the end such people are always alone, no matter how much other people once loved them. — Elizabeth Kostova, The Swan Thieves. (Sphere January 28, 2010)
Iain S. Thomas
That’s what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin. Sometimes I forget. — Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You . (Central Avenue Publishing December 1, 2011)
William S. Burroughs
I am trying like Klee, to create something that will have a life of its own, that can put me in real danger, a danger which I willingly take on myself. ― William S. Burroughs, Painting and Guns. (Hanuman Books June 1992)
Vincent van Gogh
A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke. —Vincent van Gogh
The Vale of Soul-Making 