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Poetry and art writers have tried numerous times to describe and explain the virtues of both genres. Religion, philosophy, the arts, poetry, and other ways of enjoying living and acting in the world are all contained within one intellectual circle. Philosophical theories or concepts may aid us in gathering information that might otherwise pass us by unrecognized. Any technique or system that requires us to dedicate any of this experience to a thought process or area of interest is inadmissible.<\/p>
The wisest people invest their free time in poetry, art, and music, though everyone has their intervals and distinct hobbies. Such great passion may give us a quicker sense of life, love, and sense of not being interested which comes naturally to many. Just make sure it is passion, which drives you into that. Such knowledge, on the love of art and poetic passion, has more benefits. Art and poetry require nothing but maximum and quality concentration and time. The philosopher’s service, of guessing culture towards the spirit of a human, is arousal to a life of keen observation and life of constant.<\/p>
Each moment some form grows perfect in face or hand; some particular pitch on the sea or the hill; some mood of passion is irresistible and alluring to us for that moment only. Not in the results of experience but the experience is the final.<\/p>
Some questions are given to us of a streaked, dramatic life. To always, burn with these hard questions, to maintain the intense pressure, is a success in life. In another sense it might be even said that our disappointments come essentially from framing propensities for propensity are around a normal world, and in the interim it is constantly just the coarseness of the eye that makes two people, circumstances or things resemble the other alike. Not to unmistakable each minute some energetic state of mind in those about us and in the extremely sparkling nature of endowments some partitioning powers that separate their ways.<\/p>
All principle of things such as modes of fashions has become the likelihood of modern thought. Starting with our physical life, which is just a sequence of natural elements to which science give their names but those elements are all not within our bodies alone, but we probe them in other places away from our bodies. Our physical life is a perpetual motion of them; passage of wastes, blood, and repair of lenses of the eye, which have been made simple and reduced to the science. Like the elements we are composed of, the forces extend further away from us, and those elements are broadcasted in every side of our bodies, controlled by many currents; birth and gestures and death and the springing from the grave are just a few of consequence combinations. That clearly delineate of limb and face is but just our image, under which we group them, the actual threads that pass beyond it. This at least what our life has, that is just an agreement, recycled from time to time.<\/p>
If we begin with the inner thought and feeling, the whirlpool is still quicker. There is no gradual fading of the color from the walls and no darkening of the eye and movement of shore-side, where water flows down though in apparent rest.<\/p>
At the first experience, sight seems to press us with sharp reality and submerging us into the lower levels of external objects hence locating us out of ourselves in many forms of action. However, when reflexing starts to play upon those objects. They are squandered under the influence; the force seems interrupted. Each object seems loosed into a group of impressions such as texture and odor in the mind of the observer. And when we pause in thoughts for long in this world not of objects in the certainty with which language wrap them, but of unstable flickering, inconsistent and impression that burns and get rid of our awareness of them. It then contrasts further the whole scope of noting is confined to a small portion of an individual mind. Moreover, here, the experience is already minimized to a group of impressions, which are circled around every one of us by a thick mass of identity through which no legitimate voice has ever experienced on its approach to us. These impressions are impressions of isolation of the individual. Each mind keeping its wish of the world.<\/p>
Analysis further and guarantees us that those impressions of the personal mind to which, for every one of us, experiences diminishes, are designed in a way that each is limited by time, and as time is also capable of being divided; All that is actual in it is just single moment which is gone when we try to take hold of it and can be said that it has stopped to be than it is.<\/p>
The disintegration and passage of images, sensation, impressions that is left off by analysis that continual disappearing, that unusual, weaving, lasting and unweaving of ourselves. This sense of the display of our experience and its horror brevity, collecting all we are into one despair effort to touch and see, we shall difficulty get time to make theories about things we feel and see. We have to be ever curious to test new options and opinions and courting new impressions.<\/p>
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