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
The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own.
Interpretation
Understanding others is complex and often obscured, regardless of how well we think we know them.
This quote suggests that no matter how intimate our connections with others may be, their inner thoughts and emotions remain largely inaccessible to us. It emphasizes the intrinsic mystery of the human heart, illustrating that our understanding of other people's feelings is limited by our own perceptions and experiences, much like navigating through a dark, unknown forest.
In practice
During a discussion about emotional intelligence in a workshop.
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.
That her relationship with him was like being content in a house but always sitting by the window and looking out
I think that even though some of the things on 'Humans of New York' are kind of very personal and very revealing, I think the discomfort with sharing that tends to be overwritten by the appreciation of being able to distill the experience of your life into a story and share it with other people.
What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I've had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exultations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you.
Asking women to respect themselves in order to βearnβ the right to be treated like a human being is total horseshit. But suggesting that you have the right to treat her exactly as you please because she didnβt adhere to your archaic views of feminine propriety is misogyny, plain and simple.
Invest in great relationships, they will pay a lifetime of dividends.
Promise me this, that you'll stand by me forever. But if God forbid Fate should step in and force us into a goodbye. If you have children someday, when they point to the pictures please tell them my name. Tell them how the crowd went wild, tell them how I hope they shine.
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