“And when thou art weary I’ll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.”

Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.

We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.

O aching time! O moments big as years!

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,-that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.

Death is Life’s high meed.

Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.

You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

Touch has a memory. O say, love say, What can I do to kill it and be free In my old liberty?

Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings?

Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.

Many have original minds who do not think it – they are led away by custom!

Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.

I want to be an artist that everyone can relate to, that’s young, happy, and fun.

Artists are here to disturb the peace.

Silence is one of the great arts of conversation.

Art is the sensuous presentation of ideas.

The art of concentration is a continual letting go. We let go of what is inessential or distracting. We let go of a thought or a feeling, not because we are afraid of it or because we can’t bear to acknowledge it as a part of our experience; but, because it is UNNECESSARY.

A record deal doesn’t make you an artist; you make yourself an artist

The very thought of you has my legs spread apart like an easel with a canvas begging for art.

It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill.