What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
Willa CatherRead
Every fine story must leave in the mind of the sensitive reader an intangible residuum of pleasure, a cadence, a quality of voice that is exclusively the writer's own, individual, unique.
Interpretation
A great story resonates with readers through its unique style and voice, leaving a lasting impression.
Willa Cather emphasizes the importance of a writer's unique voice in storytelling. She suggests that a truly fine story not only entertains but also evokes a sense of pleasure and a lingering quality that is distinctively tied to the writer’s individuality. This connection between the author and the reader creates a deeper appreciation for the nuances of the narrative.
In practice
During a literary workshop, I shared a quote about unique storytelling to illustrate the personal connection between writers and readers.
What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.
Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.
Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there is a market demand - a business as safe and commendable as making soap or breakfast foods - or it should be an art, which is always a search for something for which there is no market demand, something new and untried, where the values are intrinsic and have nothing to do with standardized values.
The air and the earth interpenetrated in the warm gusts of spring; the soil was full of sunlight, and the sunlight full of red dust. The air one breathed was saturated with earthy smells, and the grass under foot had a reflection of the blue sky in it.
This is reality, whether you like it or not--all those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath. This is the truth.
This award is meaningful because it comes from my fellow dealers in celluloid.
He believed that life, true life, was something that was stored in music. True life was kept safe in the lines of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin while you went out in the world and met the obligations required of you. Certainly he knew (though did not completely understand) that opera wasn't for everyone, but for everyone he hoped there was something. The records he cherished, the rare opportunities to see a live performance, those were the marks by which he gauged his ability to love.
Look, it's my misery that I have to paint this kind of painting, it's your misery that you have to love it, and the price of the misery is thirteen hundred and fifty dollars.
I paint and sculpt to get a grip on reality... to protect myself.
Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
I never got into making documentaries for any kind of success, because documentary careers are generally ones of prolonged failures.
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