“The bodies breathe, feed, store up strength, and then in an erotic moment are shattered, are spent and drained utterly, that they may bequeath their spirit to their sons. What spirit? The drive upward!”

— Nikos Kazantzakis , book The Saviors of God

The Saviors of God (1923)

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Nikos Kazantzakis 222

Greek writer 1883–1957

Caroline Myss book Anatomy of the Spirit

Source: Anatomy of the Spirit

“Gathering strength, gaining breath, — naught can sever
Me from the Spirit of Life!”

Margaret Fuller (1810–1850) American feminist, poet, author, and activist

Dryad Song (1900)
Context: Chance cannot touch me! Time cannot hush me!
Fear, Hope, and Longing, at strife,
Sink as I rise, on, on, upward forever,
Gathering strength, gaining breath, — naught can sever
Me from the Spirit of Life!

“What art offers is space – a certain breathing room for the spirit.”

John Updike (1932–2009) American novelist, poet, short story writer, art critic, and literary critic

“Hatred is a leech: The thing that sticks to a person's skin; that feeds off them and drains the sap out of one's spirit. It changes a person, and does not leave until it has sucked the last drop of peace from them.”

Chigozie Obioma (1986) Nigerian writer

The fishermen (2015)

“It cannot for a moment be doubted that an art work to be alive, to awaken us to its life, to inspire us sooner or later with its purpose, must indeed be animate with a soul, must have been breathed upon by the spirit and must breathe in turn that spirit.”

Louis Sullivan (1856–1924) American architect

Emotional Architecture as Compared to Intellectual (1894)
Context: Man, by means of his physical power, his mechanical resources, his mental ingenuity, may set things side by side. A composition, literally so called, will result, but not a great art work, not at all an art work in fact, but merely a more or less refined exhibition of brute force exercised upon helpful materials. It may be as a noise in lessening degrees of offensiveness, it can never become a musical tone. Though it shall have ceased to be vulgar in becoming sophistical, it will remain to the end what it was in the beginning: impotent to inspire — dead, absolutely dead.
It cannot for a moment be doubted that an art work to be alive, to awaken us to its life, to inspire us sooner or later with its purpose, must indeed be animate with a soul, must have been breathed upon by the spirit and must breathe in turn that spirit. It must stand for the actual, vital first-hand experiences of the one who made it, and must represent his deep-down impression not only of physical nature but more especially and necessarily his understanding of the out-working of that Great Spirit which makes nature so intelligible to us that it ceases to be a phantasm and becomes a sweet, a superb, a convincing Reality.