Quotes
Quotes about Art
Now half appear'd
The tawny lion, pawing to get free
His hinder parts.
There swift return
Diurnal, merely to officiate light
Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
She what was honour knew,
And with obsequious majesty approv'd
My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower
I led her blushing like the morn; all heaven
And happy constellations on that hour
Shed their selectest influence; the earth
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill;
Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs
Whisper'd it to the woods, and from their wings
Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub.
The sum of earthly bliss.
Accuse not Nature: she hath done her part;
Do thou but thine.
Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat,
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe
That all was lost.
How gladly would I meet
Mortality my sentence, and be earth
Insensible! how glad would lay me down
As in my mother's lap!
And over them triumphant Death his dart
Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd.
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence.
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratie,
Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece,
To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Which men call earth.
Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Some say no evil thing that walks by night,
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,
No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
If this fail,
The pillar'd firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.
It is for homely features to keep home,--
They had their name thence; coarse complexions
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply
The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool.
What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that,
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
Sabrina fair,
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.
But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return!
Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth.
From haunted spring and dale
Edg'd with poplar pale
The parting genius is with sighing sent.
Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do ingloriously, by licensing and prohibiting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple: who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?
Whoe'er she be,
That not impossible she,
That shall command my heart and me.
Days that need borrow
No part of their good morrow
From a fore-spent night of sorrow.
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry;
Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine.
