To be of the chosen despite the hungers and gnawings of flesh, to attain a spiritual union with Infinite, to die — how could physical pleasure toward which his blood cried, be compared with this?
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To be of the chosen despite the hungers and gnawings of flesh, to attain a spiritual union with Infinite, to die — how could physical pleasure toward which his blood cried, be compared with this?
“I have noticed that the flatter an image is, the less it expresses, the more it will transform when it comes into contact with other images. At some point there must be transformation, or there is no art.”
Robert Bresson