Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
William CongreveRead
There is in true beauty, as in courage, something which narrow souls cannot dare to admire.
Interpretation
True beauty and courage are qualities that some people cannot appreciate due to their limited perspective.
William Congreve's quote suggests that genuine beauty and true courage possess a profound quality that elevates them beyond superficial appreciation. It implies that individuals with a narrow or superficial outlook may be unable to recognize or admire these deeper virtues, thus highlighting the importance of an open and generous spirit in appreciating the full richness of life.
In practice
This quote could be used in a speech about the importance of being open-minded in art appreciation.
Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
She likes herself, yet others hates, For that which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.
Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand
But say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old.
Grief walks upon the heels of pleasure; married in haste, we repent at leisure.
Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.
Music is the healing force of the universe.
I think women are vital to the future of the superhero comics and the entire industry - as creators, as editors, as consumers, as retailers.
A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
The two ideas are antithetical. Insofar as photography is (or should be) about the world, the photographer counts for little, but insofar as it is the instrument of intrepid, questioning subjectivity, the photographer is all.
Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
I realized that the longing for art, like the longing for love, is a malady that blinds us, and makes us forget the things we already know, obscuring reality.
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