Art begins when a man, with a purpose of communicating to other people a feeling he once experienced, calls it up again within himself and expresses it by certain external signs.
Leo TolstoyRead
Beautiful as seemed mama's face, it became more lovely when she smiled and seemed to enliven everything about her.
Interpretation
A mother's smile brings joy and beauty to her surroundings.
In this quote, Leo Tolstoy emphasizes the transformative power of a mother's smile, suggesting that it not only enhances her own beauty but also brings life and happiness to her environment. A smile is portrayed as a source of warmth and connection, revealing the deep bond and affection associated with maternal love.
In practice
Sharing this quote at a Mother's Day celebration to highlight the love between mothers and their children.
Art begins when a man, with a purpose of communicating to other people a feeling he once experienced, calls it up again within himself and expresses it by certain external signs.
Pierre looked into the sky, into the depths of the retreating, twinkling stars. "And all this is mine, and all this is in me, and all this is me!" thought Pierre. "And all this they've caught and put in a shed and boarded it up!
People try to do all sorts of clever and difficult things to improve life instead of doing the simplest, easiest thing-refusing to participate in activities that make life bad.
It's too easy to criticize a man when he's out of favour, and to make him shoulder the blame for everybody else's mistakes.
Music is the shorthand of emotion. Emotions, which let themselves be described in words with such difficulty, are directly conveyed to man in music, and in that is its power and significance.
A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor β such is my idea of happiness.
It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, Iβd envision his face.
The dunes are changed by the wind, but the desert never changes. That's the way it will be with our love for each other
Venus, thy eternal sway_x000D_ _x000D_ All the race of men obey._x000D_ _x000D_ Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis._x000D_ _x000D_ He is not a lover who does not love for ever.
Is not the most erotic part of the body wherever the clothing affords a glimpse?
The thing to do, it seems to me, is to prepare yourself so you can be a rainbow in somebody else's cloud. Somebody who may not look like you. May not call God the same name you call God - if they call God at all. I may not dance your dances or speak your language. But be a blessing to somebody. That's what I think.
Is love an art? Then it requires knowledge and effort. Love is not a spontaneous feeling, a thing that you fall into, but is something that requires thought, knowledge, care, giving, and respect. And it is something that is rare and difficult to find in capitalism, which commodifies human activity.
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