Against all odds
Beyond fear lies freedom
Believe in yourself
Be true to yourself
There's a brave new world that's raging inside of me
Chase you dreams
Courage strength mom dad
Don't dream it be it
My first act of treason was picking up a pen my first act of love was finding myself again
Freedom
Freedom is not free
Get busy living or get busy dying
People living deeply have no fear of death
Death before dishonour
I will not surrender
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
If you don't live for something you'll die for nothing
Individuality
I never give up
Integrity
I shall stand fast
It's better to be hated for what you are, than loved for what you're not
I will not conform to this world
I'll make it to the moon if I have to crawl
I found within me an invincible summer
Life is a lesson you learn when you're through
Live life
Monsters are real and ghosts are real too. They live inside us and sometimes they win
My cup truly overflows
My life is my art, my art is my life
Never give up
Never let your fear decide your fate
Never surrender
No net enslaves me
No retreat no surrender
Not with strength but with hope
Only the strong survive
Only you can define yourself
Out of the darkness cometh light
The pain you feel today, will be the strength you feel tomorrow
I'm richer then all y' all I've got a bank full of pride
Remember who you are
Stand alone
Stay true
Stay the coarse
To thine own self be true
Trust the voice within
The creation of reality is in the hands of the weaver
To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong
23/57
The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea,
The hot stars down from heaven are whirled ;
Fierce grows the steam and the life-feeding flame,
Till fire leaps high about heaven itself.
23/58
Now Garm howls loud before Gnipahellir,
The fetters will burst, and the wolf run free ;
Much do I know, and more can see
Of the fate of the gods, the mighty in fight.
23/59
Now do I see the earth anew
Rise all green from the waves again;
The cataracts fall, and the eagle flies.
And fish he catches beneath the cliffs.
The poetic Edda, Translated from the Icelandic with an introduction and notes by Henry Adams Bellows
Manufacture is word, which, in the vicissitude of language, has come to signify the reverse of its intrinsic meaning, for it now denotes every extensive product of art, which is made by machinery, with little or no aid of the human hand; so that the most perfect manufacture is that which dispenses entirely with manual labour. The philosophy of manufactures is therefore an exposition of the general principles, on which productive industry should be conducted by self-acting machines....The term Factory... I conceive that this title, in its strictest sense, involves the idea of a vast automaton, composed of various mechanical and intellectual Organs, acting in uninterrupted concert for the production of a common object, all of them being subordinated to a self-regulated moving force
The Philosophy of Manufactures: or an Exposition of the Scientific, Moral, and Commercial Economy of the Factory System of Great Britain, Andrew Ure, 1835
Collage with Francois Hugo dans son atelier and a stamp from the Album Nestle, Peter, Cailler, Kohler, Sciences, Decouvertes, Explorations, Avenures, Series 22
Nikolai Astrup, St. Hansbal.
Astrup sitt eige notat, udatert brev til borgermester Aslaksen , Arendal, etter 1905 / Kunst og kultur 1928, s. 227-230.
"Hun matte slik som jeg selv og mange andre barn her pa Vestlandet lide under den fanatiske religiositet som en tid herjet blant de eldre her. Alt var synd - like til det a renne pa kjelke. Og St. Hansnatten, nar balene brente rundt i fjellene og menneskene myldret som sorte punkter oppover fjellsidene og de rodkledde jenter med de hvite skjorteermerne ringet seg som lyse prikker og gnister om blussene, da var det synd for kristne folk a vaere med, da matte den lille jentungen og jeg sta pa avstand bak gjerdet og se og hore, hvordan de andre danset om balet og hujede av glede. Den siste rest av urreligion som ubevisst blusset opp.
Jeg fikk en forestilling om at dette med balet var noe syndig, noe stygt, som ble bedrevet i det gronne halvmorket – noe hedensk. Og dette ble enda mer forsterket ved sjalusien som grov i brystet nar de andre barna fikk vaere med, og jeg matte sta utenfor. Og slik sa jeg min lille lidelsesfell e – og den stygge, gule ilden, som ikke lyste i sommernatten, men som lokket og drog meg nettopp fordi den var omgitt med mystikk, ugudelighet, og ra hedenskap. Og til sist turte jeg meg inn blant de ugudelige. Men den lille piken stod igjen og sa pa med det bleke ansiktet og de store, sorte oynene som suget ilden i seg.
Slik er det jeg opprinnelig har bildet inne i meg."
