Which of us has not been stunned by the beauty of an animal's skin or its flexibility in motion?

When we think we don't like art it is because it is artificial art.

The Irish say your trouble is their trouble and your joy their joy? I wish I could believe it; I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.

Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.

As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive of one's attending upon you; but to question the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.

The hands are the heart's messengers.

The enslaver is enslaved, the hater, harmed.