Explore Quotations, Proverbs & Sayings

«It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.»

«In spite of all the refinements of society that conspired to make art ? the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard?s canvases ? beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.»

«Listen, my friend, there are two races of beings. The masses teeming and happy /common clay, if you like /eating, breeding, working, counting their pennies; people who just live; ordinary people; people you can't imagine dead. And then there are the others /the noble ones, the heroes. The ones you can quite well imagine lying shot, pale and tragic; one minute triumphant with a guard of honor, and the next being marched away between two gendarmes.»

«I have but shadowed forth my intense longing to lose myself in the Eternal and become merely a lump of clay in the Potter's divine hands so that my service may become more certain because uninterrupted by the baser self in me.»

«Shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, What makest thou?»

«Shall not his excellency make you afraid? and his dread fall upon you? / Your remembrances are like unto ashes, your bodies to bodies of clay.»

«Each has his own happiness in his hands, as the artist handles the rude clay he seeks to reshape it into a figure; yet it is the same with this art as with all others: only the capacity for it is innate; the art itself must be learned and painstaking»

«It is a hard although a common case To find our children running restive- they In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Our little selves reform'd in finer clay, Just as old age is creeping on apace, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, Th»

«No man ever wetted clay and then left it, as if there would be bricks by chance and fortune.»

«Love is the only bow of life's dark cloud. It is the Morning and Evening Star. It shines upon the cradle of the babe, and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb. It is the Mother of Art, inspirer of poet, patriot, and philosopher. It is the air and light of every heart, builder of every home, kinder of every fire on every hearth, It was the first dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody. Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to joy, and makes right royal kings of common clay.»