“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.
In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.
Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.
This life’s dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.
When i tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do.
I myself do nothing. The Holy Spirit accomplishes all through me.”
“The hero of my tale, whom I love with all the strength of my soul, whom I have tried to set forth in all his beauty, and who has always been, is, and always will be most beautiful, is—the truth.
Art is not a pleasure, a solace, or an amusement; art is a great matter. Art is an organ of human life, transmitting man’s reasonable perception into feeling.
A real work of art can only arise in the soul of an artist, occasionally as the fruit of the life he has lived
The cause of the production of real art is the artist’s inner need to express a feeling that has accumulated.”
— Leo Tolstoy “WHAT IS ART? & WHEREIN IS TRUTH IN ART? (Meditations on Aesthetics & Literature)
