"The first question I ask myself if something doesn't seem to be beautiful is why do I think it's not beautiful. And very shortly you discover that there is no reason"
-John Cage
"Let us not, however flatter ourselves over much on account of our human victories over nature. For each such victory, nature takes its revenge on us"
-Frederick Engels
"The direct use of force is such a poor solution to any problem, it is generally employed only by small children and large nations"
-David Friedman
"To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without it!"
-Charles Bukowski
"Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lilied pond to eat white currants and see goldfish: and go to the fair in the evening if I'm good. There is not hope for that- one is sure to get into some mess before evening."
-John Keats
Many artists experience a productive rush early in their careers but lack the skill and discipline to sustain the quality of their output. True creativity, not just the shapeless splatter of expression, demands structure, attentiveness, and time. The artists who sustain themselves are those who overcome their addiction to the thrill of emotion and ego, define a larger vision, and keep working."
-From Tiffany Tasso
The horse and mule live thirty years
And never knows of wines and beers.
The goat and sheep at twenty die
Without a taste of scotch or rye.
The cow drinks water by the ton
And at eighteen is mostly done.
The dog at fifteen cashes in
Without the aid of rum or gin.
The modest, sober, bone-dry hen
Lays eggs for noggs and dies at ten.
But sinful, ginful, rum-soaked men
Survive three-score years and ten.
And some of us...though mighty few
Stay pickled 'til we're
ninety-two.
I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.
-Rabindranath Tagore