Quotes About Expression

with the morbid realisation that his sexual being was a dull thing, a lifeless thing, a mass-produced marionette with chipped paint and fraying strings

Without Puccini, there is no opera; without opera, the world is an even drearier place than the evening news would have us think.

I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.

How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?

Never seek to tell thy love; Love that never told can be. For the gentle wind does move silently.. invisibly.

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

How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring?

A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage.

The nakedness of woman is the work of God.

To cast aside from Poetry, all that is not Inspiration

The difference between a good artist and a bad one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal, the good one really does.

In every cry of every man, In every infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forged manacles I hear.

Imitation is criticism.

Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.

Never seek to tell thy love; Love that never told can be.

The man who never in his mind and thoughts travel'd to heaven is no artist.

art can never exist without naked beauty displayed

And because I am happy, and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury.

Praise is the practice of Art.

All great artists are doubters.

Greville swore all the time in private, arguing that we owed it to the English language to exploit the full range of forceful expressions it offered.

The only realism in art is of the imagination.

It is dangerous to leave written that which is badly written. A chance word, upon paper, may destroy the world. Watch carefully and erase, while the power is still yours, I say to myself, for all that is put down, once it escapes, may rot its way into a thousand minds, the corn become a black smut, and all libraries, of necessity, be burned to the ground as a consequence. Only one answer: write carelessly so that nothing that is not green will survive.

Say it! No ideas but in things.