Beauty, which is what is meant by art, using the word in its widest sense, is, I contend, no mere accident to human life, which people can take or leave as they choose, but a positive necessity of life.
Ornamental pattern work, to be raised above the contempt of reasonable men, must possess three qualities: beauty, imagination and order.
Talk of inspiration is sheer nonsense; there is to such thing. It is mere a matter of craftsmanship.
I half wish that I had not been born with a sense of romance and beauty in this accursed age.
Don’t think too much of style.
Simplicity of life, even the barest, is not a misery, but the very foundation of refinement.
The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?
Let tomorrow cross its own rivers.
If others can see it as I have seen it, then it may be called a vision rather than a dream.
Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see: “Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee.
How can you care about the image of a landscape, when you show by your deeds that you don’t care for the landscape itself?
Count on, rest not, for hope is dead.
The lost and found the Cause hath crowned, The Day of Days is here.
Thus then lived this folk in much plenty and ease of life, though not delicately nor desiring things out of measure. They wrought with their hands and wearied themselves; and they rested from their toil and feasted and were merry: to-morrow was not a burden to them, nor yesterday a thing which they would fain forget: life shamed them not, nor did death make them afraid.
I can see myself still myself all along the way I have gone. – Lady Abundance.
The books I would like to print are the books I love to read and keep.
When a rich man is hurt his wail goeth heavens high and none may say he heareth not.
For hope is dead, for hope is dead.
He trembled with his head hung low.
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live: “Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give.
I am accursed and beguiled; and I wander round and round in a tangle that I may never escape from. I am not far from deeming that this is a land of dreams made for my beguiling. Or has the earth become so full of lies, that there is no room amidst them for a true man to stand upon his feet and go his ways?