Time extracts various values from a painter's work. When these values are exhausted the pictures are forgotten, and the more a picture has to give, the greater it is. ↗
Thus one memory follows another until the waves dash together over our heads, and a deep sigh swells the breast, which warns us that we have forgotten to breathe in the midst of these pure thoughts. ↗
When really you've gone to drama school and rep and then you've come to London and gone to auditions and you've worked, solidly, for years. But that all gets forgotten. ↗
Work is the order of the day, just as it was at one time, with our first starts and our best efforts. Do you remember? Therein lies its delight. It brings back the forgotten; one's stores of energy, seemingly exhausted, come back to life. ↗
Judge for yourself who's still fighting for change and who got sick on power, because the person in the Miraflores has forgotten about the people of Venezuela. ↗