Quotes
Quotes about Art
It is no disgrace to start all over. It is usually an opportunity.
We all wear some disguise, make some professions, use some artifice, to set ourselves off as being better than we are; and yet it is not denied that we have some good intentions and praiseworthy qualities at bottom.
The closing years of life are like the end of a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped.
And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.
Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off.
[The heart] is the household divinity which, discharging its function, nourishes, cherishes, quickens the whole body, and is indeed the foundation of life, the source of all action.
That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ: From whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love.
For his religion, it was fit To match his learning and his wit; 'Twas Presbyterian true blue; For he was of that stubborn crew Of errant saints, whom all men grant To be the true Church Militant; Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun; Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery; And prove their doctrine orthodox, By Apostolic blows and knocks.
Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly, To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? No! perish the hearts, and the laws that try Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this!
There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; But when we are certain of sorrow in store Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and sisters I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
But in come canine Paradise Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon, And quarters every plain and hill, Seeking its master. . . . As for me This prayer at least the gods fulfill That when I pass the flood and see Old Charon by Stygian coast Take toll of all the shades who land, Your little, faithful barking ghost May leap to lick my phantom hand.
The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart--see, they bark at me.
Even the tiniest poodle is lionhearted, ready to do anything to defend home, master, and mistress.
The trees in Siberia are miles apart, that is why the dogs are so fast.
Ever consider what pets must think of us? I mean, here we come back from a grocery store with the most amazing haul - chicken, pork, half a cow. They must think we're the greatest hunters on earth!
To be, or not to be--that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-- No more--and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to.
When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap.
The pragmatist knows that doubt is an art which has to be acquired with difficulty.
As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark; The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Open every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song, And spread thy golden wings in me; Hatching my tender heart so long, Till it get wing, and flie away with Thee.
If the mind is open and awake then.... do the gods partake to fill the spaces inbetween the dreamer and his dream.
Dreams are nothing but incoherent ideas, occasioned by partial or imperfect sleep.
Sweet sleep be with us, one and all! And if upon its stillness fall The visions of a busy brain, We'll have our pleasure o'er again, To warm the heart, to charm the sight, Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.
Again let us dream where the land lies sunny And live, like the bees, on our hearts' old honey, Away from the world that slaves for money-- Come, journey the way with me.
And the dream that our mind had sketched in haste Shall others continue, but never complete. For none upon earth can achieve his scheme; The best as the worst are futile here: We wake at the self-same point of the dream,-- All is here begun, and finished elsewhere.
