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Of course he wasn't dead. He could never be dead until she herself had finished feeling and thinking. The kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.
--
Ch. 20, p. 193

 

Zora Neale Hurston

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Because of the great zeal and devotion which I experienced in executing well the two pictures which His Highness commissioned me to make — the one being Christ's dead body being laid in the tomb, and the other Christ arising from the dead to the consternation of the guards — these same two pictures are now finished through studious application, so that I am now disposed to deliver the same and so to afford to His Highness. For in these two paintings the greatest and most natural movement has been expressed, which is also the main reason why they have taken so long to execute.

 

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Love's arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope,
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In that close kiss and drank her whisper'd tales.
They said that Love would die when Hope was gone.
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Live on, for Love liveth, and earth shall be shaken
By the wind of his wings on the triumphing morning,
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And the world's tale shall sound in your trumpet of warning,
And the sun smite the banner called Scorn of the Scorning,
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Thornton Wilder