Despite the horror, we survivors were endowed with a will to survive. Or instinct. Or maybe it was faith.
Can we account for instinct?' said Monte Cristo. 'Are there not some places where we seem to breathe sadness? _ why, we cannot tell. It is a chain of recollections _ an idea which carries you back to other times, to other places _ which, very likely, have no connection with the present time and place.
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Can we account for instinct?' said Monte Cristo. 'Are there not some places where we seem to breathe sadness? _ why, we cannot tell. It is a chain of recollections _ an idea which carries you back to other times, to other places _ which, very likely, have no connection with the present time and place.
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The creative process is a cocktail of instinct, skill, culture and a highly creative feverishness. It is not like a drug; it is a particular state when everything happens very quickly, a mixture of consciousness and unconsciousness, of fear and pleasure, it's a little like making love, the physical act of love.
No child should ever be too sad to play.
What I'm feeling, I think, is joy. And it's been some time since I've felt that blinkered rush of happiness, This might be one of those rare events that lasts, one that'll be remembered and recalled as months and years wind and ravel. One of those sweet, significant moments that leaves a footprint in your mind. A photograph couldn't ever tell its story. It's like something you have to live to understand. One of those freak collisions of fizzing meteors and looming celestial bodies and floating debris and one single beautiful red ball that bursts into your life and through your body like an enormous firework. Where things shift into focus for a moment, and everything makes sense. And it becomes one of those things inside you, a pearl among sludge, one of those big exaggerated memories you can invoke at any moment to peel away a little layer of how you felt, like a lick of ice cream. The flavor of grace.
The amusements of life, he argued, should be accepted with the same philosophy as its ills. ("The Striding Place")
There are some delightful places in this world which have a sensual charm for the eyes. One loves them with a physical love. We people who are attracted by the countryside cherish fond memories of certain springs, certain woods, certain ponds, certain hills, which have become familiar sights and can touch our hearts like happy events.Sometimes indeed the memory goes back towards a forest glade, or a spot on a river bank or an orchard in blossom, glimpsed only once on a happy day, but preserved in our heart.