“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.”

Who dare to love their country, and be poor.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

What is it to be wise? ‘Tis but to know how little can be known, To see all others’ faults, and feel our own.

Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.

The greatest magnifying glasses in the world are a man’s own eyes when they look upon his own person.

An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie; for an excuse is a lie guarded.

Beauty draws us with a single hair.

Passions are the gales of life.

We may see the small value God has for riches, by the people he gives them to.

To swear is neither brave, polite, nor wise.

Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.

As with narrow-necked bottles; the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.

There is but one way I know of conversing safely with all men; that is, not by concealing what we say or do, but by saying or doing nothing that deserves to be concealed.

And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.

Women use lovers as they do cards; they play with them a while, and when they have got all they can by them, throw them away, call for new ones, and then perhaps lose by the new all they got by the old ones.

You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.

Poetry is – it’s an art form, but, to me, it’s also a weapon, it’s also an instrument. It’s the ability to make ideas that have been known, felt and said. And that’s a real, I think, type of duty for the poet.

I definitely think that fashion is a form of art and love that people can express themselves through what they wear.

Even though Prince wasn’t rapping and it was a whole different era, it shows how artists expressed themselves without saying too much, and that was the real beauty of the art.

The craft or art of writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for the wordlessness.

Wisdom is nothing but a preparation of the soul, a capacity, a secret art of thinking, feeling and breathing thoughts of unity at every moment of life.

There is an art of seeing things as they are: without naming, without being caught in a network of words, without thinking interfering with perception.

I am a typed director. If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach.

Real art has the capacity to make us nervous.