Others

The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet, and of the Devil’s party without knowing it.

The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet, and of the Devil’s party without knowing it.

I give you the end of a golden string;

I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.

This life’s dim windows of the soul

Can wisdom be put in a silver rod?

A truth that’s told with bad intent

To see a world in a grain of sand

It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up because by that time I was too famous.

Art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness which characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm … an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.

Art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness which characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm … an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.

When I am dead, I hope it may be said:

The immortal god of harmony.

The immortal god of harmony.

The fading signals and grey eternal walls of that antique station, which, familiar to them and insignificant, does yet whisper to the tourist the last enchantments of the Middle Age.

To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

I think that cars today are almost the exact equivalent of the great Gothic cathedrals: I mean the supreme creation of an era, conceived with passion by unknown artists, and consumed in image if not in usage by a whole population which appropriates them as a purely magical object.

Books must follow sciences, and not sciences books.

Be so true to thyself as thou be not false to others.

A mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure.

What is truth? said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for an answer.

There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.

Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set.