Archive for the 'Research' Category

January 25, 2017

“Bastava il nuovo sogno, bastava la nuova, rinnovata brama per rendere sopportabile l’esistenza, per conferirle qualcosa di simile a un senso, per illuminarla e redimerla. Gli amici di Albert, perlomeno quelli che ancora gli restavano, non comprendevano molto bene queste sue fantasie. Di una cosa pero’ s’avvedevano, ed era che Albert viveva sempre piu’ chiuso in se stesso, che parlava sempre piu’ tra se’ e sorrideva in maniera sempre piu’ strana, che era lontanissimo, non partecipava affatto a cio’ che per altri e’ caro e importante, si asteneva dalla politica e dai traffici, non partecipava a gare di tirassegno e a balli, a dotte conversazioni sull’arte, in una parola a nulla di cio’ che prima gli dava gioia. Era divenuto un eccentrico, un mezzo matto, capace di andarsene a passeggiare in una grigia, fredda giornata d’inverno, respirando gli odori e i colori dell’aria gelida, di star dietro a un bambino capace solo di balbettii, di rimanere per ore a fissare un’acqua verde, un’aiuola fiorita, oppure di sprofondare, come un lettore nel proprio libro, nelle linee che scorgeva in un peszetto fi legno tagliato, in una radice o in un tubero. Nessuno piu’ si interessava a lui, che all’epoca viveva in una cittadina straniera.” ~ Hesse

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January 25, 2017

“E’ davvero necessario che tu faccia quel che fai? Questi tuoi quadri devono assolutamente essere dipinti? Non sarebbe la stessa cosa, per te e per chiunque altro, se te ne andassi semplicemente a passeggiare e a bere vino? Dipingendo fai per te stesso qualcosa di diverso che se ti inebriassi, ti dimenticassi per un po’ di te stesso, ammazzassi semplicemente il tempo?” ~ Hesse

January 14, 2017

“Quanti altri dovevano essersi gia’ provati in simili imprese, e fin dall’inizio essere andati alla malora, giovani scudieri e cavalieri dei quali nessuna principessa aveva udito parlare, sui quali non correva nessuna canzone, sul cui conto nessuno stalliere raccontava storie la sera! Erano scomparsi: uccisi, avvelenati, annegati, precipitati da rupi, divorati da draghi, murati in caverne. Per nulla erano partiti, inutilmente avevano sopportato privazioni e sofferto dolori!”
~ “Infanzia di san Francesco d’Assisi”, Hesse.

François Marius Granet

December 29, 2016

December 28, 2016

“Before I knew you, acting was the only reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night, and Portia the other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real.”
~ Wilde

December 28, 2016

“I soon discovered that my best comfort was attained if I simply went on in my vision further and further, getting new impressions all the time, and so I began to travel; of course, in my mind. Every night (and sometimes during the day), when alone, I would start on my journeys — see new places, cities and countries; live there, meet people and make friendship and acquaintances… This I did constantly until I was seventeen, when my thoughts turned seriously to invention. Then I observed to my delight that I could visualize with the greatest facility. I need no models, drawings or experiments. I could picture them all as real in my mind… I do not rush into actual work. When I get an idea, I start at once building it up in my imagination. I change the construction, make improvements and operate the device in my mind. It is absolutely immaterial to me whether I run my turbine in thought or test it in my shop.”
~ Tesla

December 28, 2016

“The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor. The point of being an artist is that you may live. You won’t arrive. It is an endless search.”
~ Sherwood Anderson

December 28, 2016

“If a man has good corn or wood, or boards, or pigs, to sell, or can make better chairs or knives, crucibles or church organs, than anybody else, you will find a broad hard-beaten road to his house, though it be in the woods.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

December 28, 2016

University libraries are empty, at least in the sciences. Just study rooms for students, nothing more. And it’s not because “everything is online”. It’s because researchers systematically stay in their own field, methodically read the latest, incremental, self-referential improvements. They rarely try to pick up a textbook in a completely different discipline, to fish for connections and metaphors, to get inspiration from the unusual problems, language, and graphs. Few of them go back to read the classics,  the very foundations of their own field, to feel how their discipline looked like when it wasn’t understood. I like to dream that the next fundamental breakthrough in science will begin in a library.

December 28, 2016

“Basil puts everything that is charming in him into his work. The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his prejudices, his principles, and his common sense. The only artists I have ever known, who are personally delightful, are bad artists. Good artists exist solely in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.”
~ Wilde