Kunst ist ein Terain des Wahnsinns des Künstlers - wir wissen mehr über van Gogh's Ohr als über seine Kunst oder Wahninns des Betrachters - der bereits ein Messer bei sich trägt
Eine winzig kleine Blume von irgendeinem wilden Wegrain, die Schale einer kleinen Muschel am Strand, die Feder eines Vogels – das alles verkündet dir, dass der Schöpfer ein Künstler ist.
Someone once said, go too far from home and you will lose your roots Kill too many people and you will forget yourself If you die in battle, your life will sink into the ground like rain and vanish without a trace If at that time you fall in love with someone hope will blossom again from the earth and embrace life with passion
Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins The rest is still unwritten
A man's called a traitor - or liberator? A rich man's a thief - or philanthropist? Is one a crusader - or ruthless invader? It's all in which label is able to persist. There are precious few at ease with moral ambiguities. So we act as though they don't exist.