“A culture is only as great as its dreams, and its dreams are dreamed by artists.”
L. Ron Hubbard book Science of Survival
Science of Survival (1951)
”A Word,” p. 81
Circling: 1978-1987 (1993), Sequence: “Darkness Is Waiting”
“A culture is only as great as its dreams, and its dreams are dreamed by artists.”
L. Ron Hubbard book Science of Survival
Science of Survival (1951)
Garth Brooks (1962) American country music artist
That Summer, written by Pat Alger, Sandy Mahl-Brooks, and G. Brooks.
Song lyrics, The Chase (1992)
Randall Jarrell (1914–1965) poet, critic, novelist, essayist
"Variations," lines 31-33
Blood for a Stranger (1942)
Randall Jarrell (1914–1965) poet, critic, novelist, essayist
"Variations," lines 31-33
Blood for a Stranger (1942)
“Writing can only be as good as its subject matter.”
Siddharth Katragadda (1972) Indian writer
page 44
The Other Wife (2003)
“Only the wound speaks its own word.”
Antonio Porchia (1885–1968) Italian Argentinian poet
Habla con su propia palabra sólo la herida.
Voces (1943)
“The owl of Minerva takes its flight only when the shades of night are gathering.”
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel book Elements of the Philosophy of Right
Preface xxx
Variant: When philosophy paints its grey on grey, then has a shape of life grown old. By philosophy's grey on grey it cannot be rejuvenated but only understood. The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk.
As translated by T. M. Knox, (1952) <!-- p. 13 -->
Source: Elements of the Philosophy of Right (1820/1821)
Context: Only one word more concerning the desire to teach the world what it ought to be. For such a purpose philosophy at least always comes too late. Philosophy, as the thought of the world, does not appear until reality has completed its formative process, and made itself ready. History thus corroborates the teaching of the conception that only in the maturity of reality does the ideal appear as counterpart to the real, apprehends the real world in its substance, and shapes it into an intellectual kingdom. When philosophy paints its grey in grey, one form of life has become old, and by means of grey it cannot be rejuvenated, but only known. The owl of Minerva takes its flight only when the shades of night are gathering.