Quotes
Quotes about Art
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted!
She was good as she was fair,
None--none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are:
To know her was to love her.
The soul of music slumbers in the shell
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!
That very law which moulds a tear
And bids it trickle from its source,--
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.
Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it:
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.
His [Burke's] imperial fancy has laid all Nature under tribute, and has collected riches from every scene of the creation and every walk of art.
This is the last of earth! I am content.
If you choose to represent the various parts in life by holes upon a table, of different shapes,--some circular, some triangular, some square, some oblong,--and the persons acting these parts by bits of wood of similar shapes, we shall generally find that the triangular person has got into the square hole, the oblong into the triangular, and a square person has squeezed himself into the round hole. The officer and the office, the doer and the thing done, seldom fit so exactly that we can say they were almost made for each other.
In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book, or goes to an American play, or looks at an American picture or statue?
In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm [at Sidmouth], Dame Partington, who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused; Mrs. Partington's spirit was up. But I need not tell you that the contest was unequal; the Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington.
I 've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
Sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
The fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.
The common growth of Mother Earth
Suffices me,--her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witchery of the soft blue sky!
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears;
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love and thought and joy.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Thou has left behind
Powers that will work for thee,--air, earth, and skies!
There's not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
The harvest of a quiet eye,
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
A youth to whom was given
So much of earth, so much of heaven.
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee!
. . . . . .
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:
So didst thou travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness.
