I think cinema is closer to allegories than to reality. It's closer to our dreams.
Some find that they are content with little, while others find that they want much, much more. Still others create and manifest many things, only to later discover that it was the creation which brought them greater joy and satisfaction, more so than the actual possession or enjoyment of those creations.
How the old mountains drip with sunset,And the brake of dun!How the hemlocks are tipped in tinselBy the wizard sun!How the old steeples hand the scarlet,Till the ball is full, --Have I the lip of the flamingoThat I dare to tell?Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,Touching all the grassWith a departing, sapphire feature,As if a duchess pass!How a small dusk crawls on the villageTill the houses blot;And the odd flambeaux no men carryGlimmer on the spot!Now it is night in nest and kennel,And where was the wood,Just a dome of abyss is noddingInto solitude! --These are the visions baffled Guido;Titian never told;Domenichino dropped the pencil,Powerless to unfold.
Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lightingWild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along,Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant laughterChill as a dull face frowning on a song.Ay, but shows the South-west a ripple-feathered bosomBlown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascendScaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunsetRich, deep like love in beauty without end.
I'm uncomfortable when I'm comfortable. I have to start something new-in the agency or in my personal life-every two years or so. Taking risks gives me energy. I can't help it, it's my personality. I'd like to think it's not really a compulsion toward high risks, but the spirit of an entrepreneur.
Channels, psychological and psychic, always exist, sending communications back and forth through the various levels of the self, and the ego accepts necessary information and data from inner portions of the personality without question. Its position in fact depends in a large manner upon this unquestioning acceptance of inner data. The ego, in other words, the
It was sometimes said that the grey-and-black mountain range which ran like a spine north to south down that part of Faerie had once been a giant, who grew so huge and so heavy that, one day, worn out from the sheer effort of moving and living, he had stretched out on the plain and fallen into a sleep so profound that centuries passed between heartbeats.