“We cry out of joy, out of the memories that escape to Heaven, upon the view of art. What art is, being something that arrests our attention, is much like how we look upon those who we love, in total admiration. We are grateful. All gratitude is let loose at the dining table, upon a holiday when we remember. To all things that we lose, to all things that remain, we hold on. We hold on for the tears that make us weep for the joys of a better tomorrow, away from pain. We weep out of pain, as it cleanses us. We weep when we are joyful, as we are reminded of something we felt was the bliss of Heaven.
For what is Heaven, besides the memories we take from this life, into the next? The ‘afterlife’ only ever consists of one pain, one loss, to the memory of that life, not their death, nor their failure. An ‘afterlife’ is defined by what remains, and always what is still believed in to survive. For everything we have faith in, does not perish under our protection.”– Modern Romanticism