The phrase and the day and the
scene harmonised in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to
glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple
orchards, azure of waves, the greyfringed fleece of clouds. No, it was not
their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then
love the rhythmic rise and fall of words better than their associations of
legend and colour? Or was it that, being as weak of sight as he was shy of
mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world
through the prism of a language many coloured and richly storied than from the
contemplation of an inner world of individual emotions mirrored perfectly in a
lucid supple periodic prose?” ― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young
Man
Discover words in scents and secrecy.
Imagine in feathers.
Stay alert and listen for colors.
Find the connections.
Let the prism of language arrive.
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