A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such a speed. It feels an impulsion… this is the place to go now. But the sky knows the reason and the patterns behind all clouds, and you will know, too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons.
– Richard Bach, Illusions
Each of these artists had a peculiar method. Marcel Proust spent all day in bed, ruminating on his past. Paul Cezanne would stare at an apple for hours. Auguste Escoffier was just trying to please his customers. Igor Stravinsky was trying not to please his customers. Gertrude Stein liked to play with words. But despite their technical differences, all of these artists shared an abiding interest in human experience. Their creations were acts of exploration, ways of grappling with the mysteries they couldn’t understand.
– Jonah Lehrer, Proust Was a Neuroscientist
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.
– Jane Austin, Emma
