but the rage of traveling is a symptom of a deeper unsoundness affecting the whole intellectual action. the intellect is vagabond and our system of education fosters restlessness. our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay at home. we imitate; and what is imitation but the traveling of the mind? our houses are built with foreign taste; our shelves are garnished with foreign ornaments; our opinions, our tastes, our faculties, lean and follow, the past and distant.

the soul created the arts wherever they have flourished. it was in his own mind that the artist sought his model. it was an application of his own thought to the thing to be done, and the conditions to be observed. and why need we copy the mona lisa or the david model? beauty, convenience, grandeur of thought, and quaint expression are as near to us as to any, and if the african artist will study with hope and love the precise thing to be done by him considering the climate, the soil, the length of the day, the wants of the people, the habit and form of the government, and any other form of institution, he will create a house in which all these will find themselves fitted, and taste and sentiment will be satisfied also.

to listen to your own thought and to believe what the tongue of your private heart has uttered to you inside- this is genius; our minds are dead for our bodies are dead also. there is no purpose in what we do, we do it for affirmation and to fulfill outside expectation. there is no reasoning in our lives, because there is no thinking, the snail will win the race because she knows how to wait, and so it will listen and prepare for the treasure of the rain. in all you do begin with what matters. is it all so very bad has this world gone very mad. all these great things they gather around me. if buildings fell at least we would be in matrimony with the sun.

is the whole of man ruled by the dollar in his hand, selling their soul for material riches. let us eat one meal a day, there is absolutely no need to be eating breakfast. and let us not go-a- roving but sit with ourselves searching our souls. we will no longer live in the shadow of our parents, we will leap for faith, as the deer springs for joy. death brings freedom. in due time your sacrifices will be proved right.

Michelangelo_Cristo_Juiz

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