Quotes About Art

Culture is roughly anything we do and the monkeys don't.

My funny valentine,Sweet comic valentine,You make me smile with my heart.Your looks are laughable,Unphotographable,Yet you're my fav'rite work of art.

When I mention to my shrink that I play roles in public—acting wild-style—she smiles and I ask her what's funny. "You're a trickster, Kit," she says. "That's not a bad thing. Tricksters have a key function in life and art.

It is brilliant, and I would swoon if I knew how. Perhaps I learnt the art but it was long ago, and I've forgotten, It is merely one of a number of feminine skills I lack.

Life is not an opera. Scenes belong on the stage.

If he had been an ancient Egyptian, it was her image he'd have painted on the walls of his tomb, so that he could look at her for all eternity. Earl of Lisle, Last Night Scandal

I don't like to talk about things where you're going to gt one side or the other unhappy. My music has no politics.

Often the Muse will not respond to direct and logical requests. She must be lured in with the playful and gentle.

But when I accept the call of creative passion, I am a bold stroke of vermilion, a renegade hyperbole, or the wild fury of jazz violin. The world is a canvas to explore, a blank page to fill, and an arpeggio of waiting experiences. This moving masterpiece called "life" becomes intoxicating when it's lived as if it were art.

The greatness of the tattoo artist lies in her ability to gauge the degree to which she can push her art before the art kills the canvas.

Seeing how a hand carves out meaning with a pencil point lets us remember that the human touch is essential.

My imagination is a burden sometimes.

Learning to sketch the nude human form is standard practice for a beginning drawing class," she said. "We always hire a nude model. Last season I did it myself." While he was adjusting to the horror of that, Lucille went on.

I call it strategic incompetence." Shay's lips curved. "The art of avoiding certain tasks by pretending you don't know how to do them.

Mister Dresden, he said. And Miss Rodriguez, I believe. I didn't realize you were an art collector. I am the foremost collector of velvet Elvii in the city of Chicago, I said at once. Elvii? Marcone inquired. The plural could be Elvises, I guess, I said. But if I say that too often, I start muttering to myself and calling things 'my precious,' so I usually go with the Latin plural.

It isn't a club, I said calmly. It's a walking stick. Six feet long. It's traditional Ozark folk art. With dents and nicks all over it. I thought about it for a second. I'm insecure? Get a blanket. He held out his hand. I signed and passed my staff over to him. Do I get a receipt? He took a notepad from his pocket and wrote on it. Then he passed it over to me. It read: Received, one six foot tall traditional Ozark walking club from Mr. Smart-Ass.

No," she said. "You are not Patrick Swayze. I am not Demi Moore." She touched a switch on the little box and it started ticking. "And this sure as hell isn't pottery class.

Anyway, my office is small - one room, but on the corner, with a couple of windows. The sign on the door reads, simply, HARRY DRESDEN, WIZARD. Just inside the door is a table, covered with pamphlets with titles like: Magic and You, and Why Witches Don't Sink Any Faster Than Anyone Else - a Wizard's Perspective. I wrote most of them. I think it's important for we practitioners of the Art to keep up a good public image. Anything to avoid another Inquisition.

We followed him through the wealthy splendor of the house. Hardwood floors. Custom carved woodworking. Statues. Fountains. Suits of armor. Original painting, one of them a van Gogh. Stained-glass windows. Household staff in formal uniform. I kept expecting to come across a flock of peacocks roaming the halls, or maybe a pet cheetah in a diamond-studded collar.

Those who write them do," Ferus said. "They leave bits and pieces behind them when they lay down the words, some scraps and smears of their essential nature." He sniffed. "Most untidy, really—but assemble enough scraps and one might have something approaching a whole.

My imagination needs therapy.

metaphors can only take you for a short walk on a tight leash.

patterns of cloth busier than the makeup girl at a Kiss concert

Blood was their art. Screams were their music. Horror was their faith.