What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
Willa CatherRead
The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own.
Interpretation
Understanding others is complex and often obscured, regardless of how well we think we know them.
This quote suggests that no matter how intimate our connections with others may be, their inner thoughts and emotions remain largely inaccessible to us. It emphasizes the intrinsic mystery of the human heart, illustrating that our understanding of other people's feelings is limited by our own perceptions and experiences, much like navigating through a dark, unknown forest.
In practice
During a discussion about emotional intelligence in a workshop.
What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.
Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.
Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there is a market demand - a business as safe and commendable as making soap or breakfast foods - or it should be an art, which is always a search for something for which there is no market demand, something new and untried, where the values are intrinsic and have nothing to do with standardized values.
The air and the earth interpenetrated in the warm gusts of spring; the soil was full of sunlight, and the sunlight full of red dust. The air one breathed was saturated with earthy smells, and the grass under foot had a reflection of the blue sky in it.
This is reality, whether you like it or not--all those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath. This is the truth.
I have so much I want to tell you, and nowhere to begin.
Men and women, they were beautiful and wild, all a little violent under their pleasant ways and only a little tamed.
If you want to know where I come by the passionate commitment I have to bringing people together without regard to race, it all started with my grandfather.
When people say 'marriage' to me... It's always a means to an end. Everyone's so in a rush to define the relationship.
Dad could talk about peace and love out loud to the world, but he could never show it to the people who supposedly meant the most to him: his wife and son. How can you talk about peace and love and have a family in bits and pieces - no communication, adultery, divorce? You can't do it, not if you're being true and honest with yourself.
Stories about mental aberration and oddity only make sense in context. Just how do people live with someone who is peculiar, gifted, strange or alien? It's odd because there's a little part of me that wants to write about exotic, strange bizarre subjects. Instead, I've rather reluctantly realised that what I write about is families.
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