Joy

“Ask any cat and they’ll tell you: art is not a thing you hang on a wall. It is an experience, it is life. Art is the perfectly timed leap in the air to catch a trespassing moth. Art is the stream of sunbeams filtering in through the trees that both warms your fur and provides a camouflaging pattern across your body. Art is the precisely chosen angle and pressure of your human’s fingers executing a flawless scratch beneath your chin. But, I suppose if you simply must have a physical piece of art in your possession to fulfill some sort of human need to own and hoard, then adopt a cat. Or two. Or three. Or ten. We are art embodied, poetry in motion, perfection distilled into physical form.”
― Lydia Sherrer, Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Cat Mischief

“The newspapers of today chronicle with degrading avidity the sins of the second-rate, and with the conscientiousness of the illiterate give us accurate and prosaic details of the doings of people of absolutely no interest whatever. I must give them up.”
― Gyles Brandreth, Oscar Wilde and a Game Called Murder: A Mystery

“A secret should be kept a secret,” murmured Conan Doyle, now picking up crumbs from his plate with his forefinger. “Once it is no longer a secret, it becomes a serpent—it goes where it will.”
― Gyles Brandreth, Oscar Wilde and the Dead Man's Smile

“Ask any cat and they’ll tell you: art is not a thing you hang on a wall. It is an experience, it is life. Art is the perfectly timed leap in the air to catch a trespassing moth. Art is the stream of sunbeams filtering in through the trees that both warms your fur and provides a camouflaging pattern across your body. Art is the precisely chosen angle and pressure of your human’s fingers executing a flawless scratch beneath your chin.”
― Lydia Sherrer, Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Cat Mischief