Quotes
Quotes about Art
Love has features which pierce all hearts, he wears a bandage which conceals the faults of those beloved. He has wings, he comes quickly and flies away the same.
To love is like playing the piano. First, you must learn to play by the rules. Then, you must forget the rules and play from your heart.
You cheer my heart, who build as if Rome would be eternal.
Rome, Rome, thou art no more As thou hast been! On thy seven hills of yore Thou sat'st a queen.
I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!
Thus to the Rose, the Thistle: Why art thou not of thistle-breed? Of use thou'dst, then, be truly, For asses might upon thee feed.
Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
When love came first to earth, the Spring Spread rose-beds to receive him.
Every noble crown is, and on Earth will forever be, a crown of thorns.
I'd like to be a queen in people's hearts but I don't see myself being Queen of this country.
They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a Prince as soon as his groom.
His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung Clustering but not beneath his shoulders broad.
The first art to be learned by a ruler is to endure envy. [Lat., Ars prima regni posse te invidiam pati.]
At length her grace rose and with modest paces Came to the altar, where she kneeled, and saint-like Cast her fair eyes to heaven and prayed devoutly; Then rose again and bowed her to the people; When by the Archbishop of Canterbury She had all the royal makings of a queen, As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems Laid nobly on her; which performed, the choir With all the choicest music of the kingdom Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted And with the same full state packed back again To York Place, where the feast is held.
I give this heavy weight from off my head And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart. With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duty's rites.
A partial world will list to my lays, While Anna reigns, and sets a female name Unrival'd in the glorious lists of fame.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will.
Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sit down upon the banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder Zee, where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations? Who knows but he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep a people inurned and their greatness changed into an empty name?
Straightway throughout the Libyan cities flies rumor;--the report of evil things than which nothing is swifter; it flourishes by its very activity and gains new strength by its movements; small at first through fear, it soon raises itself aloft and sweeps onward along the earth. Yet its head reaches the clouds. . . . A huge and horrid monster covered with many feathers: and for every plume a sharp eye, for every pinion a biting tongue. Everywhere its voices sound, to everything its ears are open. [Lat., Extemplo Libyae magnas it Fama per urbes: Fama malum quo non velocius ullum; Mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit eundo; Parva metu primo; mox sese attollit in auras, Ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubilia condit. . . . . Monstrum, horrendum ingens; cui quot sunt corpore plumae Tot vigiles oculi subter, mirabile dictu, Tot linquae, totidem ora sonant, tot subrigit aures.]
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart.
Artists must be sacrificed to their art. Like bees, they must put their lives into the sting they give.
Yet be sad, good brothers, For, by my faith, it very well becomes you. Sorrow so royally in you appears That I will deeply put the fashion on And wear it in my heart.
My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things--trout as well as eternal salvation--come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.
The salvation of this human world lies nowhere else than in the human heart, in the human power to reflect, in human meekness and human responsibility.
