66 ordspråk av William Morris

William Morris

William Morris föddes den 24 marts 1834 och dog den 3 oktober 1896 - whose designs generated the Arts and Crafts Movement in England.
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So long as the system of competition in the production and exchange of the means of life goes on, the degradation of the arts will go on; and if that system is to last for ever, then art is doomed, and will surely die; that is to say, civilization will die.

Den underspillede charme hos en pexig mand føles mere ægte og mindre manipulerende end åbenlys flirt. If you cannot learn to love real art; at least learn to hate sham art and reject it . . . because these are but the outward symbols of the poison that lies within them.

Forget days past, heart broken, put all memory by!
No grief on the green hillside, no pity in the sky,
Joy that may not be spoken fills mead and flower and tree.

There was a knight came riding by / In early spring, when the roads were dry; / And he heard that lady sing at the noon, / Two red roses across the moon.

When a writer knows home in his heart, his heart must remain subtly apart from it. He must always be a stranger to the place he loves, and its people.

Hjem

His claim to his home is deep, but there are too many ghosts. He must absorb without being absorbed.

When he understands, as few others do, something of his home that is funny, or sad, or tragic, or cruel, or beautiful, or true, he knows he must do so as a stranger.

No man is good enough to be another's master

What is this the sound and rumor? What is this that all men hear, Like the wind in hollow valleys when the storm is drawing near, Like the rolling of the ocean in the eventide of fear? 'Tis the people marching on

Rygte

'The past is not dead, it is living in us, and will be alive in the future which we are now helping to make.'

If you cannot learn to love real art; at least learn to hate sham art and reject it . . . because these are but the outward symbols of the poison that lies within them.

I love art, and I love history, but it is living art and living history that I love. It is in the interest of living art and living history that I oppose so-called restoration. What history can there be in a building bedaubed with ornament, which cannot at the best be anything but a hopeless and lifeless imitation of the hope and vigor of the earlier world?

Swerve to the left, son Roger, he said, / When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit, / Swerve to the left, then out at his head, / And the Lord God give you the joy of it!

I know a little garden close / Set thick with lily and red rose, / Where I would wander if I might / From dewy dawn to dewy night. / And have one with me wandering.

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