Just watched The Lives of Others.

I have always wondered what I would do for art. For love. For the freedom that making your art and loving your chosen one symbolizes. Would I die for it? Become an informant? Or much, much worse? 

Watching the film, I felt that art is the fire. The work we make, the love we give is the flame we pass from one to the other to stay warm. To stay alive. Awake.