* A Suite of Quotations*
And it is utterly true that he who cannot find wonder, mystery, awe, the sense of a new world and an undiscovered realm in the places by the Grays Inn Road will never find these secrets elsewhere
If this world isnt good enough for us /then an afterlife wont be enough
Other world? There is no other world; here or nowhere is the whole fact.
It is impossible the world should be either good or bad
If its colors are beautiful or if they are not beautiful
If parts of it taste good or if no parts of it taste good
It is as remarkable in one case as the other
It is only among the less interesting artists that the question of the esthetic vs. the political becomes relevant since there is no integration, only superposition.
In art and dream may you proceed with abandon. In life may you proceed with balance and stealth.
Balance is balancing.
[H]uman beings cannot endure the geological chaos they encounter under the soil of their own gardens.
The self is no mystery, the mystery is/That there is something for us to stand on.
Landscape can be deceptive. Sometimes landscape seems to be less a setting for the life of its inhabitants than a curtain behind which their struggles, achievements and accidents take place. For those who with the inhabitants are behind the curtain, landmarks are no longer only geographic but also biographical and personal.
[T]here are certain scenes, certain hills and valleys and groves of pines which demand that a story shall be written about them. I would refine; I would say that the emotions aroused by these external things reverberating in the heart are indeed the story; or all that signifies the story
.We translate a hill into a tale, conceive lovers to explain a brook, turn the perfect into the imperfect.
Ultimately, photography is subversive not when it frightens, repels, or even stigmatizes but when it is pensive, when it thinks.
Guided by film
we approach, if at all, ideas no longer on highways leading through the void but on paths that wind through the thicket of things.
No ideas but in things.
---William Carlos Williams
Things keep their secrets.
Already, viral contamination offers an initial response to the question of the downside of electronic circuits, but another area of research beckons the area of ecological pollution. The pollution not only of air, water, and other substances, but also the unperceived pollution of distances.
This gridlock of possessives/occupies the place/ once held by distance.
--Rachel Blau du Plessis
The wilderness is what was there before the humans came.. The wastelandwhich was once the same thingis now something else: cultivation gone wild.
The void is absence but it is also hope, the space of the possible. The indefinite and uncertain is also the absence of limits, an almost oceanic sensation to use one of Freuds terms. The expectation of mobility and wondering
.The presence of power invites escape from its all pervasive enterprise, sedentary comfort invites unprotected nomadism, urban order invites the indefinite nature of the terrain vague.
--Ignasi de Sola-Morale
We were thinking about metaphoric voids, gaps, left over in space, places that were not developed
.Metaphors in the sense that their interest or value wasnt in their possible use.
We are often in two places at once. In fact we are usually in at least two places and occasionally the contrast is evident
.Here, most often, is nothing more than the best perspective to contemplate there.
Travel does not merely broaden the mind. It makes the mind. Our early explorations are the raw materials of our intelligence
. Children need paths to explore, to take bearings on the earth on which they live, as a navigator takes bearings on familiar landmarks. If we excavate the memories of childhood, we remember the paths first, things and people secondpaths down the garden way to school, the way round the house, corridors through the bracken or long grass. Tracking the paths of animals was the first and most important element in the education of early man.
[T]o work by elimination implies not a lessening but a trans/lation of intensities: an othering// as we articulate away from ourselves in a continuous elision toward.
Our appearance belongs to others, we live in the darkness of the bodypart of all darkness but felt.
A town, a landscape are when seen from afar a town and a landscape; but as one gets nearer, there are houses, trees, tiles leaves, grasses, ants, legs of ants and so on to infinity. All this is subsumed under the name of landscape.
She who seeks shall find, find all to well, and end up clouding her vision with her own preconceptions.
Poetry, if it is truly exploratory, continually comes to an edge. It may show something of the known shore, to which the poet clings. But the shore fronts the unknown.
There is another world but it is in this one.
We can never truly pin down where our place of dwelling lies: each newly discovered overview of what we call home effectively places it within a new topography, forcing us to redefine what it is we mean when we say I live there.
We come to our own and would make friends with matter, which the ambitious chatter of the schools would persuade us to despise. We can never part with it; the mind loves its old home: as water to our thirst, so is rock, the ground, to our eyes, and hands, and feet. It is firm water: it is cold flame: what health, what affinity!