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A Quotes

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All A Quotes

“Artists, whatever their medium, make selections from the abounding materials of life, and organize these selections into works that are under the control of the artist.... In relation to the inclusiveness and literally endless intricacy of life, art is arbitrary, symbolic and abstracted. That is its value and the source of its own kind of order and coherence.”

“Artists, writers and people in creative fields are entrepreneurs by necessity. Nobody gives them a paycheck or picks up their medical insurance. The ones who succeed learn to think and act like 'independent operators.' I think people who are technically 'employees' have to think this way as well. The company is not looking out for you.”

“Artmaking has been, at least since bohemia and modernism appeared in 19th century Paris, largely an urban enterprise: the closer to museums, publishers, audiences, patrons, politicians, other enemies, and each other, the better for artists and for art. For if cities have been essential to artists, artists have been essential to cities...Being an artist was one way of being a participant in the debate about meaning and value, and the closer to the center of things is the more one can participate. This is part of what makes urbanity worth celebrating, this braiding together of disparate lives, but the new gentrification threatens to yank out some strands together, diminishing urbanism itself. Perhaps the new urbanism will result in old cities that function like suburbs as those who were suburbia's blandly privileged take them over.”

“Artmaking involves skills that can be learned. . . In large measure becoming an artist consists of learning to accept yourself, which makes your work personal, and in following your own voice, which makes your work distinctive. . . Even talent is rarely distinguishable, over the long run, from perseverance and lots of hard work.”

“Artoo, I'm switching back to regular handwriting. Calligraphy is hard, and I didn't bring my good pens. Or I need more practice. Right now you're sitting across from me, probably writing HAGS 30 times in a row. I know a little bit of a lot of languages, but even so, I struggle to put this into words. Okay. I'm just going to do it. First of all, I need you to know I'm not putting this out there with any hope of reciprocation. This is something I have to get off my chest (cliché, sorry) before we go our separate ways (cliché). It's the last day of school, and therefore my last chance. "Crush" is too weak a word to describe how I feel. It doesn't do you justice, but maybe it works for me. I am the one who is crushed. I'm crushed that we have only ever regarded each other as enemies. I'm crushed when the day ends and I haven't said anything to you that isn't coated in five layers of sarcasm. I'm crushed, concluding this year without having known that you like melancholy music or eat cream cheese straight from the tub in the middle of the night or play with your bangs when you're nervous, as though you're worried they look bad. (They never do.) You're ambitious, clever, interesting, and beautiful. I put "beautiful" last because for some reason, I have a feeling you'd roll your eyes if I wrote it first. But you are. You're beautiful and adorable and so fucking charming. And you have this energy that radiates off you, a shimmering optimism I wish I could borrow for myself sometimes. You're looking at me like you can't believe I'm not done yet, so let me wrap this up before I turn it into a five-paragraph essay. But if this were an essay, here's the thesis statement: I'm in love with you, Rowan Roth. Please don't make too much fun of me at graduation? Yours, Neil P. McNair”

“Artur Rubinstein, the famous pianist, was once asked the secret of his success-was it dedication, ability, discipline, hard work? Mr. Rubinstein smiled as he remarked, "It's hard to say, but one thing I do know: if you love life, life will love you back!" What a wonderful insight! That philosophy explains how a man in his eighties can continue to be so creative. For life is simply filled with exciting blessings for everybody. They're ours if we give enough of ourselves to life!”

“Arturo Bandini was pretty sure that he wouldn't go to hell when he died. The way to hell was the committing of mortal sin. He had committed many, he believed, but the confessional had saved him. He always got to confession on time — that is, before he died. And he knocked on wood whenever he thought of it — he always would get there on time — before he died. So Arturo was pretty sure he wouldn't go to hell when he died. For two reasons. The confessional, and the fact that he was a fast runner.”

“Artù andò alla porta della fucina, la spalancò e fissò il cortile. Niente vi si muoveva, a parte i soliti cani. Si voltò. - Sei un uomo onesto, figlio - ammise a malincuore. - Un uomo onesto. Sono orgoglioso di te. Ma hai un'idea troppo buona del mondo. C'è il male là fuori, il vero male, e tu non ci credi. - Tu ci credevi, quando avevi la mia età? Artù riconobbe con un mezzo sorriso l'acutezza della domanda. - Quando avevo la tua età, credevo di poter rifare il mondo. Credevo che il mondo avesse bisogno solo d'onestà e di gentilezza. Credevo che il trattare bene la gente, il mantenere la pace e il praticare la giustizia sarebbero stati ricompensati con la gratitudine. Credevo che il bene avrebbe annullato il male. Rimase pensieroso per qualche attimo. - Forse pensavo che le persone fossero simili ai cani e che, offrendo loro abbastanza affetto, sarebbero state docili - riprese, amaro. - Ma le persone non sono cani, Gwydre, sono lupi. Un re deve governare migliaia di ambiziosi e ognuno di loro inganna. Sarai adulato e, alle tue spalle, deriso. Ti giureranno fedeltà eterna e intanto trameranno alle tue spalle. Scrollò le spalle. - E se sopravviverai ai complotti, un giorno avrai la barba grigia come me, guarderai la tua vita e ti accorgerai di non aver realizzato niente. Un bel niente. I bambini da te ammirati in braccio alle madri saranno cresciuti e diventati assassini, la giustizia da te imposta sarà in vendita, la gente da te protetta sarà ancora affamata e il nemico da te sconfitto minaccerà ancora i confini. Parlando, era diventato sempre più furioso. Ora con un sorriso addolcì la collera. - É questo che vuoi? Gwydre lo guardò negli occhi. Pensai per un attimo che avrebbe esitato o forse discusso con il padre, invece diede ad Artù una buona risposta. - Quello che voglio, padre, è trattare bene le persone, dare loro la pace e offrire loro giustizia.”