Pudre Proteice Quotes & Sayings

The picture must all come out of the artist's inside. It is the image that lives in the consciousness, alive like a vision, but unknown. — D.H. Lawrence

Habit is a second nature which prevents us from knowing the first, of which it has neither the cruelties nor the enchantments. — Marcel Proust

The past could destroy you, sink its teeth deep and rip out your heart... Or your soul. She didn't know what was worse. But she knew damn well the man waiting in her office could do both. She wasn't looking forward to facing her past. — Heather R. Blair

And what impels him to repeat this process at every single lesson, and, with the same remorseless insistence, to make his pupils copy it without the least alteration? He sticks to this traditional custom because he knows from experience that the preparations for working put him simultaneously in the right frame of mind for creating. The meditative repose in which he performs them gives him that vital loosening and equability of all his powers, that collectedness and presence of mind, without which no right work can be done. — Eugen Herrigel

We are this fucking stick in the end... — Deyth Banger

I've lost someone, too. And there were no rules for how to deal with the death of someone you loved. You had to accept that the loss would always stay with you, like a reminder note pinned to the inside of your jacket. But there were still opportunities for happiness. Even joy. — Lisa Kleypas

I rolled my eyes and smiled at him. "You're impossible."
"True, but you like me anyway." He pulled me tighter. — S.C. Stephens

Ultimately, eventually, we let go. We do this not because we're ready. We do this not because we've mended. We do this not because we've mourned and come to terms and gotten over it and moved on. We never move on. We don't let go so much as lose our grip and fall because remembering is not enough..memory is imperfect. It is full of holes. It is more space than matter, like lace. It is at once sodden with sorrow and desiccated from lack of blood flow, the obvious result of a broken heart. It makes things up in hopeless attempts to comfort itself. It fills fissure with fantasy. It screws shut its eyes and balls up its fists and flings itself to the ground in a kicking, screaming, blind-rage temper tantrum against reality. But mostly,..memory keeps taking on more. — Laurie Frankel

We keep the wolves outside by living well. — Angela Carter

But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire. — Robert Frost