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I think in this country we're committed to developing plays, and many plays I've seen have been rewritten too much. The scenes are tight, the play ends at the right time, you know exactly what the scene is about, but it seems flat; you can almost see that too many hands have been on the play. The individual voice is gone.
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The obedient in art are always the forgotten . . . The country is glorious but its beauties are unknown, and but waiting for a real live artist to splash them onto canvas . . . Chop your own path. Get off the car track.
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To Lawren Harris art was almost a mission. He believed that a country which ignored the arts left no record of itself worth preserving.
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Even if my country remains in war with yours. . .remember. . . i am not your enemy.
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The grave, where sets the orb of being, sets To rise, ascend, and culminate above Eternity's horizon evermore.
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When emptiness is still, that is eternity. When it moves, that is love.
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A good man ("un homme de bien", Fr.) never wholly perishes, the best part of his being outlives (or survives) in eternity.
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Everyone else is waiting for eternity and the shamans are saying, 'How about tonight?'
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I am a moment illuminating eternity....I am affirmation...I am ecstasy.
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Present, n. That part of eternity dividing the domain of disappointment from the realm of hope.
