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Quote by Laura Chouette

“OUR OLYMP At this altitude of wavering faith and dying stars our love could not stand a chance; it disappears slowly within my rhymes sky. Fading along the pale darkness like a path of crumbling anecdotes on old crumpled philosophers' notes. I can not see the moon anymore - neither I can imagine the place where it should rest tonight in the sky of ours, where it used to be so bright. The Gods themselves dare not make a home at this height of our hearts, for even the immortals would refuse to hold sacred a place so high. Even our wishes refuse to fall at the mountains feet, still climbing, trembling, and slowly loosing - defeat.”

Quote by Laura Chouette

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Laura Chouette

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“The measure of the quality of ideas or scientific achievements is their accuracy or exactness. The standard of value, or quality, in the field of art is the level of “pure beauty” (including intellectual power, wisdom, and ideas containing justified novelty) represented by the intrinsic value of a particular work of art (in its justifiable novelty). Even beauty is the measure, or one of the possible measures, of the realities and facts of life and existence. Even beauty has its dimensions and exactness. The sheer immeasurability of beauty is the measure of its infinite value. We cannot represent, describe, or define the factual state of beauty in a better way than by beauty itself.”

“I think that must be a lot like how God has it--not to sound as if I think I'm anything like God, mind you. But the whole idea--sitting up there behind glass you can't be seen through. The person down below looks up and it's just a reflection of themselves, a mirror is what they see. But behind the glass, somebody who loves you more than anything is watching, and is hoping for the best for you, and cheering you on, and is loving you even when you are doing something you shouldn't be.”

“SAN GIMIGNANO The towers align the hills like crowns of heavy stones; Empty are the dreams of the ones that built them long ago. The thirst for power still stands frozen in its tracks - the only witnesses of it stand high against the silver sky. The distance gets smaller, and the towers become higher. So many have fallen, laying their family's name to rest, in gentle forgetfulness.”

“A POET'S HOMAGE TO FLORENCE What heart dares to look upon a city so golden and is not moved to write a single line? Whose soul can bear such beauty and not praise it with all its words? May there be poets without a page left, artists with no colour to give a memory of you; and even lovers who refuse to burn? My love, your likeness is like marble that makes the altar of paradise.”

“PERSEPHONE (the spring ballade) Every heart is blooming upon a field of doubt and the flowers autumn reaps - he knows every name about. They grow never in line, although always in the shape of each soul of every lonesome doubt. So whenever I wander along my sorrow's path the horizon behind me glows crimson with all the broken hearts it carries on. A thought yet not dreamt is a love unplanted by hands of grieve - For each who does not bloom by now is long lost in summer's eyes, For autumn reaps but does not give a single tear to water the ground in which he steers sometimes so aimlessly.”