Quotes About Muse

Haven't you ever heard of an artist's muse?" the barman asked. "They all seem to either have one or want one. Me, all I want is peace and quiet.

Music from my fourth year began to be the first of my youthful occupations. Thus early acquainted with the gracious muse who tuned my soul to pure harmonies, I became fond of her, and, as it often seemed to me, she of me.

The thing about music was that you never knew the shape of anyone's desire.

At the day's end, a writer lives alone with her story, wrestling with characters and settings, and the way light filters into and out of a scene. The deeper messages often escape her.Sometimes I take for granted the journey through the telling. At other times I curse the muse's power. But through it all, I live each day in deep gratitude.

Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual air begot: Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot, While yet our England was a wolfish den;

The function of poetry is religious invocation of the muse; its use is the experience of mixed exaltation and horror that her presence excites.

William Shakespeare: My muse, as always, is Aphrodite. Philip Henslowe: Aphrodite Baggett, who does it behind the Dog and Crumpet?

I sung of chaos and eternal night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down the dark decent, and up to reascend...

Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So

For the origin of literature at Rome was closely connected with Roman overseas expansion: 'The Muse imposed herself in warlike fashion on the fierce inhabitants of Rome,' as one second-century BCE author described it. The beginning of empire and the beginning of literature were two sides of the same coin.

For the origin of literature at Rome was closely connected with Roman overseas expansion: 'The Muse imposed herself in warlike fashion on the fierce inhabitants of Rome,' as one second-century BCE author described it.

Flora was in that state where the spirit may be willing but the flesh is weak and wishes to go on holiday - and where the flesh in most cases wins hands down with a packed suitcase. It did so now. So she did what many a researcher both great and insignificant does when they are stuck. She yawned while contemplating how to catch the Muse by surprising Her. Almost invariably, the Muse has seen it all before - and also yawns.

Muse is a tyrant. It gets you out of bed in the twilight of the morning and forces you to create something!

Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened. You do not dismiss a muse at whim. - Sabine Strohem

My relationship with my muse is a delicate one at the best of times and I feel that it is my duty to protect her from influences that may offend her fragile nature. She comes to me with the gift of song and in return I treat her with the respect I feel she deserves — in this case this means not subjecting her to the indignities of judgement and competition.

I look at you and you look at me and deep in our hearts babe we know it, that you weren't much of a muse, but then, I weren't much of a poet.

I look at you and you look at me and deep in our hearts know it That you weren't much of a muse, but then I weren't much of a poet

You can sit there and

I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker. I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side.

Nothing seemed more romantic to my young mind. I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker. I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side.

I longed to enter the fraternity of the artist: the hunger, their manner of dress, their process and prayers. I'd brag that I was going to be an artist's mistress one day. Nothing seemed more romantic to my young mind. I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker.

I can only thank, as I have within myself many times through the years, this unknown benefactor. She was the one who gave me the last piece of encouragement, a thief's good-luck sign.

Than he who shares good Fortune's grace, For love of muse, for sake of art, With those inclined to join the race.