Quotes
Quotes about Art
To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One,
Be honour, praise, and glory given
By all on earth, and all in heaven.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himself
That hideous sight,--a naked human heart.
The course of Nature is the art of God.
The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art,
Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.
One to destroy is murder by the law,
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
To murder thousands takes a specious name,
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
How commentators each dark passage shun,
And hold their farthing candle to the sun.
Just men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And saints who taught and led the way to heaven.
Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just,
Stoop'd down serene and wrote them in the dust,--
Trod under foot, the sport of every wind,
Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind.
There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie,
And grieved they could not'scape the Almighty eye.
'T is but a part we see, and not a whole.
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;
My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.
Remembrance and reflection how allied!
What thin partitions sense from thought divide!
All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good;
And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw;
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before,
Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.
The soul's calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy.
Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart.
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;
And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels
Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.
In parts superior what advantage lies?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?
'T is but to know how little can be known;
To see all others' faults, and feel our own.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd,
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind!
Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell, damn'd to everlasting fame!
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph and partake the gale?
To observations which ourselves we make,
We grow more partial for th' observer's sake.
Men, some to business, some to pleasure take;
But every woman is at heart a rake.
One science only will one genius fit:
So vast is art, so narrow human wit.
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
'T is not enough no harshness gives offence,--
The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
