Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Art is emotion without desire.
boredom was born on a day of uniformity.
Melancholy overwhelms me at supersonic speed.
Because art is life, playing to other rhythms.
I am going to die, but that is of no importance.
Beautiful things should belong to beautiful souls.
We can be friends. We can be anything we want to be.
A man who farts in bed . . . is a man who loves life.
What does art do for us? It gives shape to our emotions.
If you have but one friend, make sure you choose her well.
Personally I think that grammar is a way to attain beauty.
I won't get any better by punishing the people I can't heal.
I'm afraid to go into myself and see what's going on in there.
Entrusting one's life is not the same as opening up one's soul.
But the world, in its present state, is no place for princesses.
... they have never seen you ... I would recognize you anywhere.
The strong ones among humans do nothing. They talk and talk again.
Conclusion: better to be a thinking monk than a postmodern thinker.
I may know that the world is an ugly place, I still don't want to see it.
Do you know that it is in your company that I have had my finest thoughts?
The only purpose of cats is that they constitute mobile decorative objects.
If you want to heal Heal others And smile or weep At this very happy reversal of fate
Live or die: mere consequences of what you have built. What matters is building well.
Talent consists not in inventing shapes but in causing those that were invisible to emerge.
In the end, I wonder if the true movement of the world might not be a voice raised in song.
Don't let the cat out or the concierge in: this is the first principle of socialist ladies.
Maybe that's what being alive is about: so we can track down those movments that are dying.
I'll be searching for those moments of always within never. Beauty, in this world." - Paloma
That's what the future is for: to build the present, with real plans, made by living people.
I thought: pity the poor in spirit who know neither the enchantment nor the beauty of language.
I belong to the 8% of the world population who calm their apprehension by drowning it in numbers.
The real ordeal is not leaving those you love but learning to live without those who don't love you.
When tea becomes ritual, it takes place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things.
I may be indigent in name, position, and in appearance, but in my own mind I am an unrivaled goddess -
What is an aristocrat? A woman who is never sullied by vulgarity, although she may be surrounded by it.
As far as I can see, only psychoanalysis can compete with Christians in their love of drawn-out suffering.
To the rich, therefore, falls the burden of Beauty. And if they cannot assume it, then they deserve to die.
To beauty, all is forgiven, even vulgarity. Intelligence no longer seems an adequate compensation for things.
When someone that you love dies..it's like fireworks suddenly burning out in the sky and everything going black.
With the exception of love, friendship and the beauty of Art, I don't see much else that can nurture human life.
Music plays a huge role in my life. It is music that helps me to endure ... well ... everything there is to endure.
We never look beyond our assumptions and what's worse, we have given up trying to meet others; we just meet ourselves.
People think that children don't know anything. It's enough to make you wonder if grownups were ever children once upon a time.
To be poor, ugly and, moreover, intelligent condemns one in our society to a dark and disillusioned life...to beauty all is forgiven.
...I am an anomaly in the system, living proof of how grotesque it is, and every day I mock it gently, deep within my impenetrable self.
I find this a fascinating phenomenon: the ability we have to manipulate ourselves so that the foundation of our beliefs is never shaken.
shocked to realize how much vitality is required simply to support our primitive requirements, we wonder, bewildered, where Art fits in.
When illness enters a home, not only does it take hold of a body. It also weaves a dark web between hearts, a web where hope is trapped.
Levin delights in the forgetfulness that movement brings, where the pleasure of doing is marvellously foreign to the striving of the will.
Humans live in a world where the weak are dominant. This is a terrible insult to our animal nature, a sort of perversion or a deep contradiction.