"The odds are irrelevant if it’s possible and it matters, you take the shot and you never give up."
—Regina Dugan
Maria Popova of Brain Pickings commemorates Oliver Sacks and references the moment during which music saved his life.
Or, more accurately, I had forgotten my fear — partly seeing that it was no longer appropriate, partly that it had been absurd in the first place. I had no room now for this fear, or for any other fear, because I was filled to the brim with music. And even when it was not literally (audibly) music, there was the music of my muscle-orchestra playing — “the silent music of the body,” in Harvey’s lovely phrase. With this playing, the musicality of my motion, I myself became the music — “You are the music, while the music lasts.”
Some people grumble that roses have thorns; I am grateful that thorns have roses.
"Some people grumble that roses have thorns; I am grateful that thorns have roses.”
― Alphonse Karr
We are all afforded our physical existence so we can learn about ourselves
"And yet. We are all afforded our physical existence so we can learn about ourselves."
― From The Art of Racing in the Rain, Garth Stein
If not now, when?
"If not now, when?"
— Lyrics in a Jimmy Eat World song
How to wake up
How to wake up:
1. Confess your hidden faults
2. Approach what you find repulsive
3. Help those you don't want to help
4. Anything you are attached to, give that
5. Go to the places that scare you
― Pha Dampa Sangye to Machig Labdron
Mikio Hasui on FvF
Mikio Hasui talks about his photography in an interview with FvF.
Words, they’re difficult. I’m not a good writer. When I write, I feel like my thoughts get whittled down, smaller and smaller. With a photograph that I think is beautiful, eight out of ten people will also think it’s beautiful. The other two people may think it’s sad, and that’s okay by me. With words, beautiful is beautiful. You don’t read the word ‘beautiful’ as ‘sad’. The reaction people have to my photos can be unexpected, and I like that.
And:
When I went to shoot these images, it just happened to be foggy. I was thinking, I can’t shoot today. I couldn’t see anything, so I waited a bit for the fog to clear. When the fog lifted for one moment, I saw the mountain, covered with trees in bright autumnal colors. But I was thinking that if the fog wasn’t there, and it was just a mountain covered in autumnal leaves, the experience and shot would’ve been pretty boring. It was beautiful because it was hidden, and because it was only revealed for that one moment, just that one part of the mountain.
I felt like it was a metaphor for my life. I’m living in a fog. Even though I’m facing forward, I’m not sure which direction that is. I don’t belong to or work at a company, and I live life day by day. Sometimes I’m like, is this all right? Is this okay? But that’s the kind of thing everyone thinks about. I wonder what’s ahead. Work, marriage, kids – everyone has those questions. But when you’re inside the fog, when everything is foggy, you can’t see (what’s ahead of you). When that fog lifts and you can see even a bit of something, you’ve got to believe in what you just saw, right? When the fog lifts, there’s that mountain covered in trees with beautiful leaves and colors – you can’t see it right now, but it’s there. You’ve got to believe in that.
There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman.
I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.
There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
— Émile Zola