Is not our limited time more precious than that we should spend it making these spidery marks on paper? what is the impulse to describe and record? Are we trying instinctively to stop time or outwit it? Are we building ourselves a monument? Like the most primitive sign, even the most primitive journal becomes more and more obscure in origin the more you look at it. William golding / a moving target 1982
My friends tell me I must stop saying in public that I ‘hate all my novels’ what I mean is that I am profoundly dissatisfied with everything that I have done simply because it is not good enough by my standards. On the other hand I begin every new book in the complete conviction that this time I shall get it right john banville 2010
The range of what we think and do is limited by what we fail to notice rd Laing 1976
the steady eyes of the crow and the camera's candid eye see as honestly as they know how but they lie W H Auden 1976
a sense of belonging has always evaded me. for as long as i can remember i have felt myself to be not quite in the right spot, not exactly where i should be, in the wrong place, uneasy where i am, but uncertain where i ought to be jenny diski / stranger on a train
With photographs And magnetic tape We capture Pretty animals in cages. Pretty flowers in vases. Love of colour, sound and words. Is it a blessing or a curse ? laura veirs 2012
paintings are the hand rail that we hold on a careering train. Rocketing in the ever-moving present on a spinning planet, soft creatures making life and death decisions with their hearts, sleeping through nightmares and waking to confused infatuations - art is the steady gaze, the stilled and immortal world of candid significance Edward povey 2019
