Proof is not required to believe [in a god]. But some sign, some evidence is needed. None exists. . . Find some inkling of evidence. There is none.
If I had to give up reading or give up listening to music, I suspect I'd stick with the music.
Ask her what she craved, and she'd get a little frantic about things like books, the woods, music. Plants and the seasons. Also freedom.
We are not strong enough to stand up against endless grief, And yet pain is the constant drone of life. So if we are to have any happiness at all, it is only in the passing instant.
Claim your space. Draw a circle of light around it. Push back against the dark. Don't just survive. Celebrate.
She always carried a book, though, in case she needed to read a few pages to avoid unwanted conversation.
No looking back. Life goes one way only, and whatever opinions you hold about the past having nothing to do with anything but your own damn weakness. Nothing changes what already happened. It will always have happened. You either let it break you down or you don't.
The problem is that once the rules of art are debunked, and once the unpleasant realities the irony diagnoses are revealed and diagnosed, 'then' what do we do?
I really think music and movement - dance, you know - and literature inform my visuals. I think film is also based in dance. The relationship between me, the camera and the actor is always a dance.
I still have room to improve. . . there are things I could do better.
I suppose everybody must be always just a little homesick.