My weakness has always been to prefer the large intention of an unskilful artist to the trivial intention of an accomplished one: in other words, I am more interested in the high ideas of a feeble executant than in the high execution of a feeble thinker.
When you live in the dark for so long, you begin to love it. And it loves you back, and isn’t that the point? You think, the face turns to the shadows, and just as well. It accepts, it heals, it allows.
But it also devours.
You should not
have to rip yourself
into pieces to keep
δοίη τις ἀνδροκμῆτα πέλεκυν ὡς τάχος
"Someone quickly bring my man-killing ax!"
—Clytaemnestra (Choephori, 889)