“All my early memories are of forms and shapes and textures. Moving through and over the West Riding landscape with my father in his car, the hills were sculptures; the roads defined the form. Above all, there was the sensation of moving physically over the contours of fullnessess and concavities, through hollows and over peaks - feeling, touching, seeing, through mind and hand and eye. This sensation has never left me. I, the sculptor, am the landscape. I am the form and the hollow, the thrust and the contour.” MindArtFeelingsHandsEyeMovingFormFatherLeftMemoriesSeeingCarShapesWestDefinedHillsLandscapeSensationsTouchingRidingSculptureHollowTextureThrustSculptors Book:A Pictorial Autobiography Source: A Pictorial Autobiography
“It wasn't really touching to be young; it was touching not to be young, because you had less of life left. Touching to be thirty; more touching to be forty; tragic to be fifty; and heartbreaking to be sixty. As to seventy, as to eighty, one would feel as one did during the last dance of a ball, tired but fey in the paling dawn, desperately making the most of each bar of music before one went home to bed.” FeelsHomeLastsYoungLeftBedMusic IsBallsTiredBarsDawnThirtyFiftyTragicFortyTouchingSixtySeventiesEightyHeartbreakingBe YoungFeyLast Dance Author:Rose Macaulay