Posts from the ‘Art’ Category

Mar 18

“All human things of dearest value hang on slender strings.” —Edmund Waller

Strummed strings of melody
Thrumming in harmony
With the lyre of Hermes
Of these we sing

But the lover’s power is the poet’s power. He can make love from all the common strings with which this world is strung.

—Amelia Barr

Mar 15

“Our world isn’t made of earth, air and water or even molecules and atoms; our world is made of language..” —Tom Robbins

The rising and setting of the sun: a metaphor of a day on a spinning ball of words in a universe of verse.

Perhaps things are not things but words: metaphors, words for other things.

—Octavio Paz

Mar 11

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” —Ernest Hemingway

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.

―Mark Twain

All good books have one thing in common – they are truer than if they had really happened.

―Ernest Hemingway

Feb 28

“They teach you there’s a boundary line to music. But, man, there’s no boundary line to art.” —Charlie Parker

Hear the cosmic gas sighing
Dark chords bleeding together
Primal rhythms replying
Deep-down blues grieve forever

Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.

―Lao-Tzu

Feb 24

“If names are not correct, language will not be in accordance with the truth of things.” —Confucius

In 1920s Charleston, South Carolina,
a scion of its fading aristocracy,
DuBose Heyward, sparks the
Southern Renaissance of novelists,
with the first realistic portrait of
flesh-and-blood Americans of color.
The love’s story’s title is the name
of the principal character, Porgy.

People’s fates are simplified by their names.

―Elias Canetti

Feb 20

“If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.” —Carl Sagan

We played and stomped the ground on the range we once roamed
Squeezing music in and out made a wheezy moan
Breezes teasing reedy grasses, weaving a tune
Down-to-earth as cow pies on a June afternoon

Work and pray, live on hay, you’ll get pie in the sky when you die.

―Joe Hill

Feb 8

“The future ain’t what it used to be.” —Yogi Berra

Seer’s eyes prognosticate
Reading signs of prophesy
Previewing what comes to be
As yesterday’s ills recede

There’s no present. There’s only the immediate future and the recent past.

―George Carlin

Feb 2

“Art is beauty, the perpetual invention of detail, the choice of words, the exquisite care of execution.” —Théophile Gautier

If it’s true beauty is more than skin-deep
Is it in fat’s, muscle’s, nerve’s, or bone’s keep
Does beauty through the human form seep
Pooling deep as dreams in duvets of sleep

The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread

―D. H. Lawrence

Jan 19

2 Comments

“Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lend not your ears to lies
Look out for tells and tics
The ears hear artifice
Eyes can read lies on lips

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.

―Jean Cocteau

Jan 18

Posts from the ‘Art’ Category

Strummed strings of melodyThrumming in harmonyWith the lyre of HermesOf these we sing

But the lover’s power is the poet’s power. He can make love from all the common strings with which this world is strung.

—Amelia Barr

The rising and setting of the sun: a metaphor of a day on a spinning ball of words in a universe of verse.

Perhaps things are not things but words: metaphors, words for other things.

—Octavio Paz

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.

―Mark Twain

All good books have one thing in common – they are truer than if they had really happened.

―Ernest Hemingway

Hear the cosmic gas sighing Dark chords bleeding together Primal rhythms replying Deep-down blues grieve forever

Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.

―Lao-Tzu

In 1920s Charleston, South Carolina, a scion of its fading aristocracy, DuBose Heyward, sparks the Southern Renaissance of novelists, with the first realistic portrait of flesh-and-blood Americans of color. The love’s story’s title is the name of the principal character, Porgy.

People’s fates are simplified by their names.

―Elias Canetti

We played and stomped the ground on the range we once roamed Squeezing music in and out made a wheezy moan Breezes teasing reedy grasses, weaving a tune Down-to-earth as cow pies on a June afternoon

Work and pray, live on hay, you’ll get pie in the sky when you die.

―Joe Hill

Seer’s eyes prognosticate Reading signs of prophesy Previewing what comes to be As yesterday’s ills recede

There’s no present. There’s only the immediate future and the recent past.

―George Carlin

If it’s true beauty is more than skin-deep Is it in fat’s, muscle’s, nerve’s, or bone’s keep Does beauty through the human form seep Pooling deep as dreams in duvets of sleep

The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread

―D. H. Lawrence

Lend not your ears to lies Look out for tells and tics The ears hear artifice Eyes can read lies on lips

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.

―Jean Cocteau

Would ‘Sunflowers’ shun the light‘Starry Night’ be canvas whiteBlood be spilled by palette knifeWere life without art still life

Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life.

―Oscar Wilde

Strummed strings of melody
Thrumming in harmony
With the lyre of Hermes
Of these we sing

Hear the cosmic gas sighing
Dark chords bleeding together
Primal rhythms replying
Deep-down blues grieve forever

In 1920s Charleston, South Carolina,
a scion of its fading aristocracy,
DuBose Heyward, sparks the
Southern Renaissance of novelists,
with the first realistic portrait of
flesh-and-blood Americans of color.
The love’s story’s title is the name
of the principal character, Porgy.

We played and stomped the ground on the range we once roamed
Squeezing music in and out made a wheezy moan
Breezes teasing reedy grasses, weaving a tune
Down-to-earth as cow pies on a June afternoon

Seer’s eyes prognosticate
Reading signs of prophesy
Previewing what comes to be
As yesterday’s ills recede

If it’s true beauty is more than skin-deep
Is it in fat’s, muscle’s, nerve’s, or bone’s keep
Does beauty through the human form seep
Pooling deep as dreams in duvets of sleep

Lend not your ears to lies
Look out for tells and tics
The ears hear artifice
Eyes can read lies on lips

Would ‘Sunflowers’ shun the light
‘Starry Night’ be canvas white
Blood be spilled by palette knife
Were life without art still life