How many people tell dreamers each day that the spark of idealism will die from their eyes as they grow into the reality of this world? How many lose their battles against the sinister nagging of practicality? How much creativity is crushed under the monotonous dance of a second hand?
If it were up to the mundane masses to determine how to live, our existence would be deprived of the marvelous visions and endeavors that make human life more than a bludgeon of mediocrity in an extraordinary world.
Without inspiration, sweeping over us in all its fleeting glory, our lives would be bland and hollow, devoid of meaning. But it hides everywhere, elusive and ever-sought, in the patience of stones and the nodding of trees, in a violin bow, in off-key laughter, in the air that fills the emptiness surrounding us, in a finger painting, in every beautiful work of art that nurtures the heart and churns the mind.
This page is to commemorate the beautiful art that was the CBS series Beauty and the Beast. Even during oblivious stupors of practicality, it will forever lurk inside me. It will never die.