When Whitney Houston died I felt great sadness. My sadness of course was about our collective loss - when you listened to this nightingale sing your body would drop into a chair your head would tilt up a small smile would creep across your face and inside you knew that there was a higher power somewhere: gifted beautiful spiritual.
In things to be seen at once much variety makes confusion another vice of beauty. In things that are not seen at once and have no respect one to another great variety is commendable provided this variety transgress not the rules of optics and geometry.