I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
Virginia WoolfRead
It is the nature of the artist to mind excessively what is said about him. Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Interpretation
Artists are deeply affected by the opinions of others, which can lead to their downfall.
Virginia Woolf reflects on the vulnerability of artists, emphasizing that they often become overly concerned with how they are perceived by others. This preoccupation can hinder their creativity and ultimately lead to their professional and personal destruction, as many literary figures have experienced throughout history.
In practice
In a motivational speech about creativity, one might use this quote to encourage artists to stay true to themselves despite external judgments.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
Death is woven in with the violets,” said Louis. “Death and again death.”)
He began to search among the infinite series of impressions which time had laid down, leaf upon leaf, fold upon fold softly, incessantly upon his brain; among scents, sounds; voices, harsh, hollow, sweet; and lights passing, and brooms tapping; and the wash and hush of the sea.
I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts.
I do think all good and evil comes from words. I have to tune myself into a good temper with something musical, and I run to a book as a child to its mother.
London perpetually attracts, stimulates, gives me a play and a story and a poem, without any trouble, save that of moving my legs through the streets... To walk alone through London is the greatest rest.
For now, poetry has the capacity - in its own ways and by its own means - to remind us of something we are forbidden to see.
The text loses its virginity simply by being staged: it's no longer the abstract ideal version; it's an event.
To be true to life, a novel must have an ending that is inevitable given the specific personalities of the characters involved. The novelist must not impose an ending upon them.
I wanted to be Gerry Mulligan, only, see, I didn't have any kind of technique. So I thought, well, baritone sax is kind of easier; I can manage that - except I couldn't afford a baritone, so I bought an alto, which was the same fingering.
I see no intrinsic reason why a doubly talented artist might not arise and create a comic-strip novel masterpiece.
It was in the 1920s, when nobody had time to reflect, that I saw a still-life painting with a flower that was perfectly exquisite, but so small you really could not appreciate it.
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