Quotes
Quotes about Art
Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
I 'll warrant him heart-whole. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
'T were all one That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1.
Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is--to die.
Here shame dissuades him, there his fear prevails, And each by turns his aching heart assails.
He was not born to shame. Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honor may be crowned Sole monarch of the universal earth.
Where the mind is past hope, the heart is past shame.
For she is such a smart little craft, Such a neat little, sweet little craft-- Such a bright little, Tight little, Slight little, Light little, Trim little, slim little craft!
Again she plunges! hark! a second shock Bilges the splitting vessel on the rock; Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, The fated victims shuddering cast their eyes In wild despair; while yet another stroke With strong convulsion rends the solid oak: Ah Heaven!--behold her crashing ribs divide! She loosens, parts, and spreads in ruin o'er the tide.
O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel (Who had no doubt some noble creature in her) Dashed all to pieces! O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perished!
If you had taken off the shoe then, at length you would feel in what part it pinched you. [Lat., Si calceum induisses, tum demum sentires qua parte te urgeret.]
Where is home? Home is where the heart can laugh without shyness. Home is where the heart's tears can dry at their own pace.
Why should ye be stricken any more? ye will revolt more and more: the whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint.
A malady Preys on my heart that med'cine cannot reach.
I enjoy convalescence. It is the part that makes the illness worth while.
All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
There are haunters of the silence, ghosts that hold the heart and brain.
Stillborn silence! thou that art Flood-gate of the deeper heart!
Of every noble work the silent part is best; of all expression, that which cannot be expressed.
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first; Be not discouraged-- keep on-- there are divine things, well envelop'd; I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
The whole is simpler than the sum of its parts.
The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
Partial culture runs to the ornate; extreme culture to simplicity.
The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet, And left to Heaven the rest. -John V. Cheney.
