"[w]hat was any art but ... a sheath, a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose." - Willa Cather, Song of the Lark
Saturday, April 16, 2005
"I have gazed upon the face ..."
In reading through previous posts, it has become apparent that I am obsessed with masks.
Eat your hearts out, Heinrich Schliemann and Paul Lawrence Dunbar!
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