what was any art but an effort to make a sheath, a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element which is life itself, — life … - Willa Cather

What was any art but an effort to make a sheath, a mold in which to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element which is life itself.

He had never learned to live without delight. And he would have to learn to, just as, in a Prohibition country, he supposed he would have to learn to live without sherry. Theoretically he knew that life is possible, maybe even pleasant, without joy, without passionate griefs. But it had never occurred to him that he might have to live like that.

The more observing ones may have seen, but discerning people are usually discreet and often kind, for we usually bleed a little before we begin to discern.

The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own.