Sentences with phrase «passing year of silence»

Not exact matches

Thus, in recent years the Supreme Court has invalidated a Connecticut law (passed to replace the prior Sunday closing law) allowing workers to select their Sabbath day as their day off from work, struck down a Massachusetts statute allowing churches and schools to object to the issuance of liquor licenses in their near vicinity, and abolished an Alabama law allowing students in public schools a moment of silence.

Out of prudence, I held back, but the understanding seemed to settle upon me: that the price of my membership in the congregation was to preserve my silence in the synagogue on the issue that I regarded, more surely with each passing year, as the gravest question of moral consequence before us.

... One might have expected that, after a three - year silence, the words of Labour's most electorally successful leader might be of a passing interest to those who now seek the job».

V](Andrew Noren, 1987) Rak ti Khon Kaen (Cemetery of Splendour, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2015) + Vapour (2015) Passacaglia y Fuga (Jorge Honik, 1974) + La mirada errante (1969 - 1981) Circle (Jack Chambers, 1969) On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1951) Echoes of Silence (Peter Emmanuel Goldman, 1967) Lumière d'été (Jean Grémillon, 1943) + Remorques (1941, Gardiens de phare (1929), L'Amour d'une femme (1954), Le Ciel est à vous (1944), Le 6 juin à l'aube (1946) Corps à coeur (Paul Vecchiali, 1979) + Trous de mémoire (1985) Anna (Alberto Grifi & Massimo Sarchielli, 1975) An Affair to Remember (Leo McCarey, 1957) John From (João Nicolau, 2015) Suite California & Stops Passes Part 1: Tijuana to Hollywood Via Death Valley (1976) Part 2: San Francisco to Sierra Nevadas & Back Again (Robert Nelson, 1978) Plumb - line (Carolee Schneemann, 1968) No Home Movie (Chantal Akerman, 2015) Thorndon (Joanna Margaret Paul, 1975) + Napkins (1975), Aberhart's House (1976) Un enano en el jardín (Claudio Caldini, 1981), A través de las ruinas (1982), Ofrenda (1978), Aspiraciones (1976), Baltazar (1975) Rose (Siloh Cinquemani, 2013) + Narcissi (2013) Dripping Water (Michael Snow, 1969) + To Lavoisier, Who Died in the Reign of Terror (1991), Rameau's Nephew by Diderot (thanx to Dennis Young) by Wilma Schoen (1974) Heads and Tales (Francis Conrad, 1967) Reel 30b01 — Positano (Pierre Clémenti, 1969) La noche bengalí (Narcisa Hirsch & Werner Nekes, 1980) La nuit claire (Marcel Hanoun, 1979) Human Desire (Fritz Lang, 1954) Le jardin qui bascule (Guy Gilles, 1975) Bérénice (Éric Rohmer, 1954) + Les nuits de la pleine lune (Full Moon in Paris, 1984) Simone Barbès ou la vertu (Marie - Claude Treilhou, 1980) There's Always Tomorrow (Douglas Sirk, 1956) + Zu neuen Ufern (1937) Tender is the Night (Henry King, 1962) Loin de Manhattan (Jean - Claude Biette, 1982) Five Year Diary.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,