A Quote by Catherine Stock
The muse on my shoulder is very sensitive and does not abide claptrap of any kind... Only when I am totally immersed... absorbed in work... does she allow something magical to happen and I become aware of a faint heartbeat and gentle breath emanating from my brush.
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Why does my muse only speak when she is uhnhappy? She does not, I only listen when I am unhappy.
I don't have any choice any more. I am in a choiceless awareness. I don't have to be aware. I am simply aware. Now it is just like my heartbeat or like my breathing. Even if I try not to be aware, it is not possible; the very effort will make me more aware. Awareness is not a quality, a characteristic; it is your whole being. When you become aware, there is no choice left to be otherwise.
I am very aware of my family name. I'm very aware of the legacy that that kind of carries with it. And I think that I didn't want to lose any kind of hold of that. And I think once you're born into something that you're proud of and that you're aware of, you don't take it lightly.
The muse does not allow the praise-de-serving here to die: she enthrones him in the heavens.
The muse is not an angelic voice that sits on your shoulder and sings sweetly. The muse is the most annoying whine. The muse isn't hard to find, just hard to like - she follows you everywhere, tapping you on the shoulder, demanding that you stop doing whatever else you might be doing and pay attention to her.
Where does the hand become the wrist?
where does the neck become the shoulder? The watershed
and then the weight, whatever turns up and tips us over that
razor's edge
between something and nothing, between
one and the other.
She is so totally absorbed in a vocation - both a gift and a mastering passion - that she has no time to be absorbed with the self's worries about itself. And that is the moral of the story: You can pursue happiness by wearing a torn jersey. You can catch it by being good at something you love.
I thought you said that after this many years nothing should embarrass him?" Leigh said with gentle amusement. Lucian grunted. "I guess he's more sensitive than I thought." "I am NOT sensitive," Cale snapped, irritated by the very suggestion. "It's probably his mother's fault," Lucian said, ignoring him. "Martine named him after Caliope, the muse of poetry. Between that and his father dying when he was only fifty, he's probably suffered under Martine's namby-pamby influence.
Like Woody Allen actually does this a lot in his movies, its kind of called magical realism where he has just kind of an everyday, these kind of everyday experiences and all the sudden something magical or supernatural will come into to and I just, I love that and I think everybody can kind of - everybody wants that at some point in their life.
I try and intellectualize a lot, which she does as well obviously. She's very determined, I am as well. I like to think that I am very loyal in the same way that she is. Bit of a feminist in the same way that she is. I will speak my mind in the same way that she does.
The heroic soul does not sell its justice and its nobleness. It does not ask to dine nicely and to sleep warm. The essence of greatness is the perception that virtue is enough. Poverty is its ornament. It does not need plenty, and can very well abide its loss.
If a young dog strays up the aisle during church no one says anything, no one does anything, but, none the less, he soon becomes aware that something is wrong. Even so, as the distance between myself and the hearthrug diminished, did I become aware that something was very wrong indeed.
How does one practice mindfulness? Sit in meditation. Be aware of only your breath.
I'm not in control of my muse. My muse does all the work.
I knew Rita Hayworth only enough to know that she was just a tender, sensitive, beautiful human being. A lovely person. Very gentle. She would never stand up for her rights.
The agnostic has a very curious notion of religion. He is convinced that a man who says 'I believe in God' should at once become perfect; if this does not happen, then the believer must be a fraud and a hypocrite. He thinks that adherence to a religion is the end of the road, whereas it is in fact only the beginning of a very long and sometimes very rough road. He looks for consistency in religious people, however aware he may be of inconsistencies in himself
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