#objects

Although the dream is a very strange phenomenon and an inexplicable mystery, far more inexplicable is the mystery and aspect our minds confer on certain objects and aspects of life. ↗

— Giorgio de Chirico

#aspect #aspects #certain #confer #dream

How it came to pass that man, originally taught, as we doubt not he was, to know and to worship the true Jehovah, is found, at so early a period of his history, a worshiper of baser objects, it is foreign to our present purpose to inquire. ↗

— Simon Greenleaf

#doubt #early #foreign #found #his

The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves. ↗

— Carl Jung

#acting #creation #creative #creative mind #inner

Women have seldom sufficient employment to silence their feelings; a round of little cares, or vain pursuits frittering away all strength of mind and organs, they become naturally only objects of sense. ↗

— Mary Wollstonecraft

#become #cares #employment #feelings #little

I take photographs with love, so I try to make them art objects. But I make them for myself first and foremost - that is important. ↗

— Jacques-Henri Lartigue

#first #foremost #i #important #love

At first sight experience seems to bury us under a flood of external objects, pressing upon us with a sharp and importunate reality, calling us out of ourselves in a thousand forms of action. ↗

— Walter Pater

#bury #calling #experience #external #external objects

What is important, then, is not that the critic should possess a correct abstract definition of beauty for the intellect, but a certain kind of temperament, the power of being deeply moved by the presence of beautiful objects. ↗

— Walter Pater

#beautiful #beauty #being #certain #correct

Sometimes, when you get something new, you trick yourself into believing it has the power to change absolutely everything about you. ↗

— Siobhan Vivian

#change

When I was seventeen I found a man, or maybe he found me. Away from home for the first time, out of reach of my father’s archaic restrictions and my mother’s culinary insistence, I cut off my hair, dropped my Christian name, wore black and toyed with anorexia, passing incognito among the city workers, just another ant in that vast heap. ↗

— Nell Grey

#objects-of-desire #short-story-collection #solstice #home

Stories are a kind of thing, too. Stories and objects share something, a patina. I thought I had this clear, two years ago before I started, but I am no longer sure how this works. Perhaps a patina is a process of rubbing back so that the essential is revealed, the way that a striated stone tumbled in a river feels irreducible, the way that this netsuke of a fox has become little more than a memory of a nose and a tail. But it also seems additive, in the way that a piece of oak furniture gains over years and years of polishing, and the way the leaves of my medlar shine. ↗

— Edmund de Waal

#patina #stories #things #art