Art Quotes - Page 662

Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!

Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.

Ambition is a gilded misery, a secret poison, a hidden plague, the engineer of deceit, the mother of hypocrisy, the parent of envy, the original of vices, the moth of holiness, the blinder of hearts, turning medicines into maladies, and remedies into diseases.

The test of the artist does not lie in the will with which he goes to work, but in the excellence of the work he produces.

When I have eliminated the ways that will not work, I will find the way that will work.

Holiness is a disposition of the heart that makes us humble and little in the arms of God, aware of our weakness, and confident - in the most audacious way - in His Fatherly goodness.

Art is beauty, the perpetual invention of detail, the choice of words, the exquisite care of execution.

Work is the true elixir of life. The busiest man is the happiest man. Excellence in any art or profession is attained only by hard and persistent work. Never believe that you are perfect. When a man imagines, even after years of striving, that he has attained perfection, his decline begins.

Tortoise steps, slow steps, four steps like a tank with a tail dragging in the sand. Tortoise steps, land based, land locked, dusty like the desert tortoise herself, fenced in, a prisoner on her own reservation -- teaching us the slow art of revolutionary patience.

The universe is, instant by instant, recreated anew. There is in truth no past, only a memory of the past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.

I think the real test of psychedelics is what you do with them when you're not on them, what kind of culture you build, what kind of art, what kind of technologies... What's lacking in the Western mind is the sense of connectivity and relatedness to the rest of life, the atmosphere, the ecosystem, the past, our children's future. If we were feeling those things we would not be practicing culture as we are.

If I had to give my younger self some advice, I think it would be that you have to laugh at things-things that scare you, things that intimidate you, things that hurt you, When you're humiliated, when you're rejected, you have to be able to take these bad experiences you have and turn them into a great dinner party joke.

One does not always know how to express the sorrow of the soul. One does not always know how to silence the joy of the heart.

Your heart is the center of humility, your mind could be the source of arrogance.

We need the expressive arts, the ancient scribes, the storytellers, the priests.

I see that happening with hip hop purists now. Where you have an artist like a Kendrick [Lamar] or a Drake, who are really trying different things emotionally, different things musically, and on a mainstream level. And you have underground hip hop fans dissing it, for the simple fact that it's mainstream - not because what they're doing is whack, or what they're doing is not sincere.

Creativity runs across many categories in life, from the arts-and-crafts project a mum or dad does with their kids, to the bestselling author's manuscript, to the designs of the hairdresser, to the creations of the computer programming genius.

The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.

In order to possess what you do not possess, you must go by the way of dispossession.

Art serves us best precisely at that point where it can shift our sense of what is possible, when we know more than we knew before, when we feel we have - by some manner of a leap - encountered the truth. That, by the logic of art, is always worth the pain.

What we know of other people's only our memory of the moments during which we knew them.

The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call.

What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love?

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.

I was very much into buying contemporary art, but I've just decided I want to get rid of it all. Not that it's not great art, but all of a sudden my mood has changed, and I want to go back to seventeenth- and eighteenth-century masters.