I just wanted to share a quote for today that reminds me of how artists and writers and creative types may see and describe the world:
The phrase and the day and the scene harmonized in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to clow and fad, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and greet of apple orchards, azure of waves, the greyfringed fleece of clouds. No, it was not their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then love the rhythmic rise and fall of words better than their associations of legend and color? Or was it that, behing as weak of sight as he was shy of mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world through the prism of a language manycoloured and richly storied than from the contemplation of an inner world of individual emotions mirrored perfectly in a lucid supple periodic prose?
–From James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man