War Of Art の小説・ストーリー

"If you go down there with your face looking like that, as skittish as she is right now, she'd probably bolt." "What's wrong with my face?" "Never mind, what do you plan to do?" "What did I teach you about Sun Tzu?" "Ah, shit, no. You're not about to go Tony Montana on these people, are you? Because I gotta tell you, our town is too small for that shit." "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting." "Coulda fooled me. Didn't you just bash somebody's face in like a week ago?" "There is no instance of a nation benefiting from prolonged warfare."

I browsed the shelves, and I read the titles. Into the fire, A firsthand Account of the extraordinary Battle in Afghan War by Dakota Meyer, Bing West 500 Days, Secrets and Lies in the Terror Wars- Kurt Eichenwald The War for crown and Empire There are all sorts of books about wars here. I paused in front of a book that I deemed the most interesting. I pulled it out of the shelf and stared at it, contemplating whether to get on with it or not. I can choose a much thinner book… The 33 Strategies of War- Robert Greene

"If you are sitting in my place right now, you'll see how beautiful the collage of things in the timeline." "You own time," Elena said. "We are limited." "Time has a limit as it has beginnings too," he replied. "The good and bad only add color like black and white in a portrait." "You know your art," Elena commented. "But it would not help us win the war." "What is it with you people and wars?" "What?" "Why are you so worried of winning?" he asked. "Don't you know that all meanings came from the realization that all things started with beginnings and there would be some end?"

And I was standing in the center of it all fighting not just for this show, but for the right to exist as both a passionate artist/curator and the woman who loved Damien Blackwood. The war for my art career had officially begun. And the critic’s verdict was only the opening shot.

“Are you really going to start a war in her name?” I stayed silent, letting the question linger between us. Wars weren’t friendly disputes or minor quarrels. No, wars were bloodbaths that stretched for months, maybe years. A reaper’s call sweeping through the souls of everyone who dared cross its path, innocent or guilty alike. Would I really do it? Would I bring terror into years of peace for the sake of a woman? “Yes.” I finally said, arms crossed. “I wouldn’t be the first to start a war for love, and I won’t be the last.”

“How would we even begin to create something that could win a competition when our styles are so different from one another? It would be a mess.” “By doing exactly what you just said. We play on the weakness of it being unalike. Artists thrive on divergence, conflict and themes that are at odds are one of the major themes within the art world. Art thrives off of chaos, so we’ll use that.” Craig stuck his hand out to me, and I let my eyes flitter down towards it. “What do you say?” I shook my head as I took a deep breath and shook his hand. “Okay then,” I looked up to him. “Partners.”

Nathaniel said. “Yes,” Lillian replied. “Not winning. Living afterward.” They stopped at a corner where the light took longer than usual to change. A bus passed. Someone argued softly nearby. Somewhere above them, a window glowed. The war had not ended because the enemy had been destroyed. It had ended because the conditions that allowed it to exist had been dismantled. There would be other conflicts. Other threats. Other moments where attention would sharpen into defense. But this war was over. It would not return in the same form.

Omar asked sarcastically. “Wait, let me get this straight. I am sure it’s because you feel you are science students, right? What would have been of science without Art? It’s just a bunch of crappy ideas without an outcome. Art is the shell, my dear, we design you and make you boost out to the world. We present you to the world and give you the energy you feel.” Omar said, looking at the boys who were already tensed.

except for one, I notice. I hitch in a breath as my gaze meets the eyes of the brooding War God. His eyes are colder than an Arctic wind, and though he holds the Goddess of Love in his arms, he barely seems to notice her. His eyes flit from me to Apollo, his expression unreadable, other than the obvious tightening of his jaw. I force myself to pull my gaze away, focusing with difficulty on Apollo, who's smile has turned amused. "Interesting dynamic there, you two." He says in a voice that holds the smallest, almost undetectable amount of bitterness. "In all the myths, it is Aphrodite and Ares who are in love, unable to stay away from each other...and yet...that has never been the case." "Wha