For love is exultant when it unites equals, but it is triumphant when it makes that which was unequal equal in love.
The further you get from nature, the less happy you are; and the nearer, the more exultant you become over the world and all that there is in it.
There was something unmistakably exultant about the mess that Rosa had made. Her bedroom-studio was at once the canvas, journal, museum, and midden of her life. She did not “decorate” it; she infused it.