By Pierre-Henri Joubert
THOUGHT
REGRET
ISOLATION SOLITUDE
My playhouse is underneath Our house, & I hear people Telling each other secrets
Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings
always darker, emptier, simpler.
I believe that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension that we find paralyzing because we no longer hear our surprised feelings living.
Anticipation:
In drawing, the trace always proceeds in the night:
it always escapes the field of vision.
Fleas interest me so much that I let them bite me for hours. They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit, machines that admit of no appeal. They do not bite to eat, they bite only to jump; they are the dancers of the celestial sphere, delicate acrobats in the softest and most profound circus; let them gallop on my skin, divulge their emotions, amuse themselves with my blood, but someone should introduce them to me. I want to know them closely, I want to know what to rely on.
The beautiful, according to Edmund Burke, is what is well formed and aesthetically pleasing, whereas the sublime is what has the power to compel and destroy us.
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