Art is the medicine that can call us back from the edge of numbness, restoring the ability to feel for another.
Art is our inoculation, preventing our absorption into a cold systematic world.
Though sometimes confusing and abstract, art is a contagious disease that can infect anyone who gets too close.
Without the therapeutic remedy of art, there would be no agent to deliver humanity from its terminal decline from feeling and sentiment.
Rationality and sense are contagious; art and imagination is medicine.
When they took away her art it was as if her soul had been amputated, and no one could tell from the autopsy what had killed her.
Art is the Cat Scan that shows what is truly within.
Art is the medication that encourages humanity to reach beyond limits.
Art is a drug, which, if taken in large doses, can induce a different reality and form of thinking.
Scrubs make us uniform; art is the cure.
Art is soma.
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