So is there any ideas of imagination, which seem so kind to it and nothing in common with everything that men consider valuable. In contact with the practice, they are liable to be broken and destroyed. It is required that the Artist of the Ideal has a strength of character that seems hardly compatible with its delicacy, he must keep faith in himself while the incredulous world assails him of his absolute skepticism, he must stand up against mankind and be his only self-disciple, both in respect of his own genius that objects to which it aspires.
Nathaniel Hathorne, Artist of the Beautiful, page 18
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A little book light and ephemeral art.
And it's not a question of engineering. As
Brel said, there is the work that counts.
White Fang aka aka a pig's head louchon, to paraphrase Napoleon D.
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