The light of the past

El hielo. Illustrated London News, 1875.

Iceberg. Illustrated London News, 1875.

 

True art allows us to understand (or try to understand the world) from the outside; the only way we can do it. Inside, we see nothing. We are only aware of our own shadows. Being outside is imperative to understand.

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Democracy is the game of the mediocre. Only the mediocre seek to please the majority.

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It is morbid, the distance between what is written, what is thought and what is said.

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The sublime dialogue between the great men, great intellects and artists, should never be limited by the conventions of the lower minds.

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Intelligence; the cry of the nature expecting to end with itself.

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I had the thought, that the past was more real than the present.

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The most perfect art: that which causes a potential suicide in the viewer.

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It would seem that at this hour and in this place, the people who make the world turn, are going, hurried, to give the first turn to the day.

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A fortuitous encounter: after the silence, to know that it had happened before, but only then.

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People are never doing what they seem to be doing and it takes an eternity to understand it: they always act.

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Maybe, we are only the way that the universe has to see itself.