Quotes About Beauty

As for literatureIt gives no man a sinecure.And no one knows, at sight, a masterpiece."And give up verse, my boy,There's nothing in it."

There died a myriad,And of the best, among them,For an old bitch gone in the teeth,For a botched civilization.Charm, smiling at the good mouth,Quick eyes gone under earth's lid,For two gross of broken statues,For a few thousand battered books.

And New York is the most beautiful city in the world? It is not far from it. No urban night is like the night there... Squares after squares of flame, set up and cut into the aether. Here is our poetry, for we have pulled down the stars to our will.

Poetry must be as well written as prose.

The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.The paired butterflies are already yellow with AugustOver the grass in the West garden;They hurt me. I grow older.

I would hold the rosy, slender fingers of the dawn for you.

FRANCESCA You came in out of the night And there were flowers in your hands, Now you will come out of a confusion of people, Out of a turmoil of speech about you. I who have seen you amid the primal things Was angry when they spoke your name In ordinary places. I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, So that I might find you again, Alone.

Gloom and solemnity are entirely out of place in even the most rigorous study of an art originally intended to make glad the heart of man. Gravity, a mysterious carriage of the body to conceal the defects of the mind.

Francesca" You came in out of the night And there were flowers in your hands, Now you will come out of a confusion of people, Out of a turmoil of speech about you. I who have seen you amid the primal things Was angry when they spoke your name In ordinary places. I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, So that I might find you again, Alone.

ALBA from "Langue d'Oc" When the nightingale to his mate Sings day-long and night late My love and I keep state In bower, In flower, 'Till the watchman on the tower Cry: "Up! Thou rascal, Rise, I see the white Light And the night Flies.

And I am homesick After mine own kind that know, and feel And have some breath for beauty and the arts.

The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast- Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child - so high - you are, And all this is folly to the world.

And so the space Of my still consciousness Is full of gilded snow, The which, no cat has eyes enough To see the brightness of. — Ezra Pound, from "Middle-Aged," Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22 . Edited by Harriet Monroe. (Chicago, 1912–22)

Under white clouds, cielo di Pisa. Out of all this beauty something must come.

O woman shapely as a swan, Your gunmen tread on my dreams

As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn.

Alba As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn.

So that the vines burst from my fingers And the bees weighted with pollen Move heavily in the vine-shoots: chirr---chirr---chir-rikk---a purring sound, And the birds sleepily in the branches. ZAGREUS! IO ZAGREUS!

Nay, whatever comes one hour was sunlit and the most high gods may not make boast of any better thing than to have watched that hour as it passed.

A real building is one on which the eye can light and stay lit.

Good art however "immoral" is wholly a thing of virtue. Good art can not be immoral. By good art I mean art that bears true witness, I mean the art that is most precise.

For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.

That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.

I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.