"Years ago, in a dance contest in Jerez de la Frontera, competing against lovely women and girls with liquid waists, was an old lady, eighty years of age. She took to the little platform and, merely by raising her arms, throwing back her head, and stamping the dusty boards with the blows of her feet, she carried off the prize. In that conclave of Muses and angels, that forgathering of beauties - beauties of form and beauties of smile - who else could earn the prize but this woman’s moribund duende as it swept the earth with its wings of rusty knives?"
  - Duende

"I wonder at those untouchable shimmering forms, glimpsed through the furnace spy hole, each living its hellish rite of passage and whispering across the igneous divide, recalling ancient fiery genesis, the cosmic chemistry set, the building blocks of life itself…" Fire: Ceramics, Mystery and Creativity