Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.

Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.

Nothing can be done except little by little.

To say the word Romanticism is to say modern art - that is, intimacy, spirituality, color, aspiration towards the infinite, expressed by every means available to the arts.

God is the only being who, in order to reign, doesn't even need to exist.

Dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music

The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.

The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.

A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.

Music fathoms the sky.

He is the Firstfruits of God's harvest, and millions have followed Him. The same power that raised Him from the dead lives in them, giving them life everlasting.

So not every person fits into the little rooms we build to hold them. There are infinite combinations of human and inhuman, male and female, brown and white.

All work of man is as the swimmer's: a vast ocean threatens to devour him if he front it not bravely it will keep its word.

Isn't it a shame that future generations can't be here to see all the wonderful things we're doing with their money?

I do walk with a bit of a swagger. I do swear a lot. And people are going to be offended by that. But in this PC world, you can't be honest.

Few things are more damaging to our democracy than a military officer who doesn't have the moral courage to stand up for what's right or the moral fiber to step aside when circumstances dictate.

Talent wears well, genius wears itself out; talent drives a snug brougham in fact; genius, a sun-chariot in fancy.

The highest art one can learn is the art of loving, and that the ultimate creativity and the highest art are born out of a knack - meditation.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

Since we cannot promise our selves constant health, let us endeavour at such temper as may be our best support in the decay of it.