But how awful would that be? How terrible to live surrounded by the stark, sharp, hollowness of things that simply were enough?
Patrick RothfussRead
Then I played the song that hides in the center of me. That wordless music that moves through the secret places in my heart. I played it carefully, strumming it slow and low into the dark stillness of the night. I would like to say it is a happy song, that it is sweet and bright, but it is not.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the deep and often complex emotions associated with artistic expression.
In this quote, Patrick Rothfuss explores the intimate connection between music and the inner self. He conveys that the song he plays is not merely joyful or cheerful but represents a deeper, more nuanced expression of feelings that exist within the quiet, hidden parts of his heart. It emphasizes the idea that true artistry can capture a wide spectrum of emotions, often beyond words, leading to a profound sense of authenticity in one's expression.
In practice
A musician might share this quote during an interview about their creative process.
But how awful would that be? How terrible to live surrounded by the stark, sharp, hollowness of things that simply were enough?
I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing I had seen in three years. That the sight of her yawning to the back of her hand was enough to drive the breath from me. How I sometimes lost the sense of her words in the sweet fluting of her voice. I wanted to say that if she were with me then somehow nothing could ever be wrong for me again.
Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating ... but there are other ways to understanding.
Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself.
How odd to watch a mortal kindle / Then to dwindle day by day / Knowing their bright souls are tinder / And the wind will have its way
All the truth in the world is held in stories.
A poet must be a psychologist, but a secret one: he should know and feel the roots of phenomena but present only the phenomena themselves in full bloom or as they fade away.
I feel like you only have so much time to make stuff. I'm definitely aware of that. I'm also excited about it.
I became a photographer in order to be a war photographer, and a photographer involved in what I thought were critical social issues. From the very beginning this was my goal.
This music is forever for me. It's the stage thing, that rush moment that you live for. It never lasts, but that's what you live for.
I think of myself as a theater animal instead of an intellectual animal.
Stories only happen to those who are able to tell them.
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