Art Quotes - Page 525

When thou art quiet and silent, then art thou as God was before nature and creature; thou art that which God then wats; thou art that whereof he made thy nature and creature: Then thou hearest and seest even with that wherewith God himself saw and heard in thee, before every thine own willing or thine own seeing began.

I am one of those marranes who no longer say they are Jews even in the secret of their own hearts.

The pain of the flesh is naught to that of the heart

That all of God’s men are immortal until God is through with them is a wonderful comforting thought for today. And when He is through with you, He will remove you from the earth.

The wise speak only of what they know

I don't know what good it is to know so much and be smart as whips and all if it doesn't make you happy.

As yet, if a man has no feeling for art he is considered narrow-minded, but if he has no feeling for science this is considered quite normal. This is a fundamental weakness.

All art is the struggle to be, in a particular sort of way, virtuous.

I could always live in my art but never in my life

The question is not so much whether there is life on Mars as whether it will continue to be possible to live on Earth

There's no sex in Middle Earth.

If you are to be among the noble you must be noble. If you are to be among the wise, you must be wise, if you would be among the pure in heart, you must be pure in heart.

If you feel that . . . what you do this year or in the years to come does not make you very famous, take heart. Most of the best people who ever lived weren't very famous either.

Doing nothing for others is the undoing of one's self. We must be purposely kind and generous, or we miss the best part of existence. The heart that goes out of itself, gets large and full of joy. This is the great secret of the inner life. We do ourselves the most good doing something for others.

Wine give strenght to weary men. and And wine can of their wits the wise beguile. Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile. and Let those who drink not, but austerely dine, Dry up in law; the muses smell of wine. and No poem was ever written by a drinker of water. and Bacchus opens the gate of the heart. and Might to inspire new hopes and powerful To drown the bitterness of cares.

Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.

Ugliness corrupts not only the eyes, but also the heart and mind.

Each has its lesson; for our dreams in sooth, come they in shape of demons, gods, or elves, are allegories with deep hearts of truth that tell us solemn secrets of ourselves.

How memories lie to us. How time coats the ordinary with gold. How it breaks the heart to go back and attempt to re-live them. How crushed we are when we discover that the gold was merely gold-plating thinly coated over lead, chalk and peeling paint.

What right have I to grieve, who have not ceased to wonder?

When we can't hold back, or set boundaries, on what comes from our lips, our words are in charge-not us. But we are still responsible for those words. Our words do not come from somewhere outside of us, as if we were a ventriloquist's dummy. They are the product of our hearts. Our saying, "I didn't mean that," is probably better translated, "I didn't want you to know I thought that about you." We need to take responsibility for our words. "But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken" (Matt. 12:36).

There is not so agonizing a feeling in the whole catalogue of human suffering as the first conviction that the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love is estranged from us.

Missions is God finding those whose hearts are right with Him and placing them where they can make a difference for His kingdom

You say that love is nonsense. I tell you it is no such thing. For weeks and months it is a steady physical pain, an ache about the heart, never leaving one, by night or by day; a long strain on one's nerves like toothache or rheumatism, not intolerable at any one instant, but exhausting by its steady drain on the strength.