A Quote by Hilda Doolittle

I testify
to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven
and walls of colour,
the colonnades of jasper. — © Hilda Doolittle
I testify to rainbow feathers, to the span of heaven and walls of colour, the colonnades of jasper.
O, beautiful rainbow; - all woven of light! There's not in thy tissue, one shadow of night; Heaven surely is open when thou dost appear, And, bending above thee, the angels draw near, And sing, - "The rainbow! the rainbow! "The smile of God is here."
If I deny the existence of a God - if I deny the idea of a gold paved city with pearly walls and jasper gates somewhere out of knowledge and space and prefer to die and to trust the unfaltering laws of nature - if, in plain words I don't want to go to heaven, whose business is it but my own?
Before I tell you my story," Jasper said. "you must understand that there are places in our world, Bella, where the life span of the never-aging is measured in weeks, and not centuries.
When you're an author, you're always two people. Jasper the writer is different from Jasper the person at home.
I had been doing wall drawings, but they were always black and white. Then in 1993 I painted all the walls of a room to make an installation and as soon as I saw the colour on the walls, it changed my whole life.
In painting feathers, you want to create the look of feathers, but if you try to paint all the feathers, you have nothing but disaster.
I saw the lovely arch Of rainbow span the sky, The gold sun burning As the rain swept by.
Without feathers it isn't easy to fly: my wings have got no feathers. [Lat., Sine pennis volare hau facilest: meae alae pennas non habent.] [Alt., Flying without feathers is not easy; my wings have no feathers.]
I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.
Countless candles dribbled with hot wax, and their flames, like little flags, fluttered in the unchartered currents of air. Thousands of lamps, naked, or shuttered behind coloured glass, burned with their glows of purple, amber, grass-green, blue, blood red and even grey. The walls of Gormenghast were like the walls of paradise or like the walls of an inferno. The colours were devilish or angelical according to the colour of the mind that watched them. They swam, those walls, with the hues of hell, with the tints of Zion. The breasts of the plumaged seraphim; the scales of Satan.
As I watch, the sky fills with clouds of snow feathers from every kind of bird there ever was and even some that only exist in the imagination, like the bluebirds that fly over the rainbow.
A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant.
Men of the present time testify of heaven and hell, and have never seen either.
The true colour of life is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest colour of the unpublished blood.
In the studio, we adhere to a strict colour code. Developed over decades, the colour code consists of a finite and precise colour palate... The whole world as we experience it comes to us through the mystic realm of colour.
Life's a choice: you can live in black and white, or you can live in colour. I'll take every shade of the rainbow and the gazillion in between!
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