A man who deals in harmonies, who only matches stars with angels, or lambs with spring flowers, he indeed may be frivolous. But a man who ventures to combine an angel and an octopus must have some serious view of the universe.
A man who deals in harmonies, who only matches stars with angels, or lambs with spring flowers, he indeed may be frivolous. But a man who ventures to combine an angel and an octopus must have some serious view of the universe.
“Our works in stone, in paint, in print, are spared, some of them, for a few decades or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall in war, or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash — the triumphs, the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life: we’re going to die. “Be of good heart,” cry the dead artists out of the living past. “Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing.” Maybe a man’s name doesn’t matter all that much.”
Orson Welles