Ithell Colquhoun Quotes

The Bardic robe..disguises imperfections of figure: round shoulders, bosoms of unmodish size or shape...too-insistent buttocks, knock knees and bandy legs, all are mitigated in the merciful folds of the robe...but whatever the type of robe --soutane, sari, academic gown or Bardic wrap -- its effect is often destroyed by disillusioning shoes.

The life of a region depends ultimately on its geologic substratum, for this sets up a chain-reaction which passes, determining their character, in turn through its streams and wells, its vegetation and the animal-life that feeds on this, and finally through the type of human being attracted to live there. In a profound sense also the structure of its rocks gives rise to the psychic life of the land: granite, serpentine, slate, sandstone, limestone, chalk and the rest have each their special personality dependant on the age in which they were laid down, each being co-existent with a special phase of the earth-spirit's manifestation.

Tears flowed into my eyes, and this not only on account of the delicate pathos of the tale. For the first time since living in my Uncle's house, I wept. Heaven knows, I had enough disquieting experiences to puzzle and distress me, yet until this moment I had only half-believed that they were true. I had expected shortly to awake from a nightmare--disagreeable enough while it lasted through the days earliest hours, but sure to flee at the first real light of dawn. Now, however, the full significance of my plight towered over me with dismal weight; and a wave of utter loneliness overwhelmed me.

They floated on, gently at first, then more rapidly so as not to lose sight of the bird. As they flew, leaving the mansion and its grounds far behind, they became permeated with light and colour; and their blood, always a single stream, now pulsed back and forth along the rays of the sun, as from some magnetic heart. The bird, too, must have felt a link with the fiery west, for it sailed on as though drawn without volition to plunge into that flaming core; and with this creature of air for guide, the two sailed effortlessly on, desiring no return.

Now a negro was dancing, and the faster he danced, the wilder grew the hidden music. Suddenly as it grew louder still, his limbs began to expand and he could touch the eight corners of the vast room with head, finger or toe. His white draperies, too, flowed out, unrolling from some compact centre within themselves. As he spun and somersaulted, his bones ceased to stiffen, his skin to bind, his muscles came untied; gravity was abated, space negated, volume grew fluid. But time danced on, to the tempo of the music without source; and when this music stopped, the negro shrank again to his usual size. In an underground cave, shining warmly from some hidden illumination, a line of swathed dancers began to move, springing up and down on the same spot with magnetic gesticulations. Their leader passed along the lines with an iron whip, lashing them like spinning-tops to make them dance more fiercely. Up and down the line he strode, more and more swiftly; and all at once, as his strokes grew more potent, the dancers began to glow. Then, as he reached each one in turn, they successively burst into flame. Leaping ever higher, these human torches filled the low-roofed cavern with their ardent rite; and finally left the floor, to circle, a chorus of serene fire-balloons, near the ceiling.