威廉·佐拉奇/William Zorach
It is strange how certain things make a great impression on us in childhood. I remember these verses by Longfellow：
“Life is real！Life is earnest！
And the graves is not its goal；
Dust thou art, to dust returnest，
Was not spoken of the soul.”
And again：
“Lives of great men all remind us，
We can make our lives sublime，
And departing, leave behind us.
Footprints on the sands of time.”
Of course, my generation was much more sentimental than today's youth but whether this was great poetry, it communicated in simple language a message, and made a lasting impression on a small boy.
When I was ffteen I had an imaginary guardian angel and whenI went to the country to sketch on Sundays, I asked for guidance, praying that someday I would be a fine artist and paint nature as beautiful as she really is. What this little ceremony brought me was faith in the world and a belief in myself.
My faiths and beliefs have been badly strained. The Atomic Age has caught us in a web of fear. Our lives seem so impermanent and uncertain. There is such a waste of human potential, of things worth while in people which never fnd expression. I sometimes think it's a miracle that anything survives. Yet I believe that a thread of permanence runs through everything from the beginning of time, and the most valuable residue will survive.
I believe everybody has an urge to somehow spin his own life into a thread of permanence. It is the impulse of life. Some would call it the drive to immortality. Whatever it is, I think it is good because it gives purpose to existence. But purpose is not enough. Artists are supposed to be notoriously impractical, but for myself, I found I had to make decisions and plans if I were to try to create anything. I realized that I must approach life not only with a sensitivity, a perception of beauty, but with a feeling of humility and reverence.