Quotes
Quotes about Art
Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years and years of training can, using only their hands and feet, make some of the worst movies in the history of the world.
Thou art a female, Katydid! I know it by the trill That quivers through thy piercing notes So petulant and shrill. I think there is a knot of you Beneath the hollow tree, A knot of spinster Katydids,-- Do Katydids drink tea?
Their cause I plead--plead it in heart and mind; A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.
There's no dearth of kindness In the world of ours; Only in our blindness We gather thorns for flowers.
He carried and nourished in his breast a snake, tender-hearted against his own interest. [Lat., Colubram sustulit Sinuque fovet, contra se ipse misericors.]
Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkercher about your brows-- The best I had, a princess wrought it me-- And I did never ask it you again; And with my hand at midnight held your head, And like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheered up the heavy time, Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
A friend is one to whom you can pour out the contents of your heart, chaff and grain alike. Knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.
This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
Kwon Yin from China Jesus from Israel Buddha from India Rumi from Afghanistan Martin Luther King from America Leo Tolstoy from Russia and millions of anonymous women and men live nonviolence http://PostPoems.com/members/ar.
The foremost art of kings is the ability to endure hatred.
Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we paid for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old!
. . . not by way of the forced and worn formula of Romaticism, but throught the closeness of an imagination that has never broken kinship with nature. Art must accept such gifts, and revaluate the giver.
It is not the level of prosperity that makes for happiness but the kinship of heart to heart and the way we look at the world. Both attitudes are within our power . . . a man is happy so long as he chooses to be happy, and no one can stop him.
Remember the Viper:--'twas close at your feet, How you started and threw yourself into my arms; Not a strawberry there was so ripe nor so sweet As the lips which I kiss'd to subdue your alarms.
Something made of nothing, tasting very sweet, A most delicious compound, with ingredients complete; But if as on occasion the heart and mind are sour, It has no great significance, it loses half its power.
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part.
Tell me who first did kisses suggest? It was a mouth all glowing and blest; It kissed and it thought of nothing beside. The fair month of May was then in its pride, The flowers were all from the earth fast springing, The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
My very first lessons in the art of telling stories took place in the kitchen . . . my mother and three or four of her friends. . . told stories. . . with effortless art and technique. They were natural-born storytellers in the oral tradition.
Zeno first started that doctrine, that knavery is the best defence against a knave.
A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-faking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.
Not only is that an art in knowing a thing, but also a certain art in teaching it. [Lat., Nam non solum scire aliquid, artis est, sed quaedam ars etiam docendi.]
If my mind can conceive it, and my heart can believe it, I know I can achieve it.
Half of being smart is knowing what you're dumb at.
The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.
There are things on heaven and earth, Horatio, Man was not meant to know.
