Quotes About Art

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!Bird thou never wert,That from Heaven, or near it,Pourest thy full heartIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.

He is a portion of the lovelinessWhich once he made more lovely.

Our sweetest songs are those that tell the saddest thoughts.

Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.

Poet's food is love and fame.

Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs— To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart.

Hence the vanity of translation; it were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its color and odor, as seek to transfuse from one language into another the creations of a poet. The plant must spring again from its seed, or it will bear no flower—and this is the burden of the curse of Babel.

The distinction between poets and prose writers is a vulgar error.

it were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its color and odor, as seek to transfuse from one language into another the creations of a poet

A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth. There

Poetry thus makes immortal all that is best and most beautiful in the world

forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion brings One mood or modulation like the last.

Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be 'the expression of the imagination': and poetry is connate with the origin of man.

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted

And as this creation itself is poetry, so its creators were poets; and language was the instrument of their art

Sadistic excess attempts to reach roughly and by harshness what art reaches by fineness.

One of the problems with technology is that no photograph, as superb and outstanding as it may be, will ever be as satisfying as the most middle-rate painting.

A proverb is an ornament to language.

I had grown up under the heroic spell of the Abstract Expressionist painters

He tried to imagine the sound of the color red.

In Mexico, I first encountered the attitude that was missing from the optimistic sense of living in the United States: a tragic sense of life. Such a sense doesn't force us into a somber cone of depression and futility; it urges the opposite. The tragic sense opens a human being to the exuberant joys of the present. To laughter, carnal ity, the comical varieties of love, to music and art, to the small human glories of the day.

The painting was food. He wanted to caress it, hold it in his hands, lick its glazed surface, plunge into it, dive into the Florentine light. Years vanished, decades were erased, and he was again the boy who had come here to the feast of art.

All good art cannot help but confront denial on its way to truth.