Out of my great sorrows, I make little songs.
Like a great poet, Nature produces the greatest results with the simplest means. These are simply a sun, trees, flowers, water and love. Of course, if the spectator be without the last, the whole will present but a pitiful appearance, and in that case, the sun is merely so many miles in diameter, the trees are good for fuel, the flowers are classified by stamens, and the water is simply wet.
There is only one writer in whom I find something that reminds me of the directness of style which is found in the Bible. It is Shakespeare.
Every age has its problem, by solving which humanity is helped forward.
God will pardon: That's His business.
Phychical pain is more easily borne than physical; and if I had my choice between a bad conscience and a bad tooth, I should choose the former.
Genius: 1. to believe your own thought. To believe that what is true for you is ultimately true. 2. a sledgehammer. 3. the fruit of labour and thought. 4. soul. 5. the ability to put into effect what is in your mind. 6. something one can become.
On the waves of the brook she dances by, The light, the lovely dragon-fly; She dances here, she dances there, The shimmering, glimmering flutterer fair. And many a foolish young beetle's impressed By the blue gauze gown in which she is dressed; They admire the enamel that decks her bright, And her elegant waist so slim and slight.
Nothing is more futile than theorizing about music. No doubt there are laws, mathematically strict laws, but these laws are not music; they are only its conditions? The essence of music is revelation.
Sleep is lovely, death is better still, not to have been born is of course the miracle.
In blissful dream, in silent night, There came to me, with magic might, With magic might, my own sweet love, Into my little room above.
The beauteous dragonfly's dancing By the waves of the rivulet glancing; She dances here and she dances there, The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. Full many a beetle with loud applause Admires her dress of azure gauze, Admires her body's bright splendour, And also her figure so slender...
Each violet peeps from its dwelling to gaze at the bright stars above.
Don't send a poet to London.
Good Luck is a giddy maid, Fickle and restless as a fawn; She smooths your hair; and then the jade Kisses you quickly, and is gone.
There is one thing on earth more terrible than English music, and that is English painting.
Nature, like a true poet, abhors abrupt transitions.
Terrible as is war, it yet displays the spiritual grandeur of man daring to defy his mightiest hereditary enemy--death.
Talking and eloquence are not the same: to speak and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.
What lies lurk in kisses.
In vain would I seek to discover Why sad and mournful am I, My thoughts without ceasing brood over A tale of the time gone by.
I live! Red life boils in my veins, earth yields beneath my feet, in the glow of love I embrace trees and statues, and they live in my embrace. Every woman is to me the gift of a world. I revel in the melody of her countenance, and with a single glance of my eye I can enjoy more than others with their every limb through all their lives.
With the rose the butterfly's deep in love, A thousand times hovering round; But round himself, all tender like gold, The sun's sweet ray is hovering found.
Like a great poet, Nature knows how to produce the greatest effects with the most limited means.
I do not murmur, even if my heart break.
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