Art

Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.

The Big Bow-Wow strain I can do myself like any now going; but the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth of the description and the sentiment, is denied to me.

Poetry is the achievement of the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.

Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture.

Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart of man go together.

To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion—all in one.

Life without industry is guilt, and industry without art is brutality.

No person who is not a great sculptor or painter can be an architect. If he is not a sculptor or painter, he can only be a builder.

I have seen, and heard, much of Cockney impudence before now; but never expected to hear a coxcomb ask two hundred guineas for flinging a pot of paint in the public’s face.

A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu: voyelles,

The age demanded an image

For three years, out of key with his time,

Tching prayed on the mountain and wrote MAKE IT NEW

All gardening is landscape-painting.

Ev’n copious Dryden, wanted, or forgot,

All nature is but art, unknown to thee;

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance.

Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend,

Consult the genius of the place in all.

Pretty! in amber to observe the forms

Six characters in search of an author.

We all know that Art is not truth. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.

I paint objects as I think them, not as I see them.

God is really only another artist. He invented the giraffe, the elephant, and the cat. He has no real style. He just goes on trying other things.