A jade curtain of willow fronds parts world of green earth from that of blue pond A grey curtain of morning mist separates turquoise waters from blue sky A more slender veil is at the portal hiding the paradise of the immortal.
'Watched the snow fall for most of the night, each flake was glistened by the moonlight, shining with life as it fell from the dark sky. Each flake fell with elegance, and landed on the ground delicately and perfectly in place, like it had a purpose. It was the most beautiful sight. It reminded me of life, that each experience has a purpose, we fall and pick ourselves up to continue our journey and how beautiful and imperfect we truly are.'
What is saved in the cinema when it achieves art is a spontaneous continuity with all mankind. It is not an art of the princes or the bourgeoisie. It is popular and vagrant. In the sky of the cinema people learn what they might have been and discover what belongs to them apart from their single lives.
(John Berger (b. 1926), British author, critic. repr. In Keeping a Rendezvous (1992). "Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye," first published in Expressen (Stockholm, Nov. 3, 1990).)
New York ... is a city of geometric heights, a petrified desert of grids and lattices, an inferno of greenish abstraction under a flat sky, a real Metropolis from which man is absent by his very accumulation.
(Roland Barthes (1915-1980), French semiologist. repr. In The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies, trans. by Richard Howard (1979). "Buffet Finishes Off New York," Arts (Paris, 1959).)