Thomas Hood Quotes
Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
Quotes to Explore
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As I discovered music, especially Rock 'n Roll, new territory was opened to me. I was lured by the unbridled rhythm of this art form. It was like gasoline on the fire of my youthful spirit.
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When I was born, the doctor looked at my mother and said, 'Congratulations, you have an actor!'
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Nothing can really prepare you for you the sheer overwhelming experience of what it means to become a mother. It is full of complex emotions of joy, exhaustion, love, and worry, all mixed together.
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A lot of politics in art is just institutional critique, which, in my opinion, is not all that political.
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For me, as an actor, there is no commercial or independent or art cinema. For me, it's a character that is given by the director. And it is a task for me that I have to fulfill it to the best of my ability regardless of the kind of film that it is.
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Glory is a heavy burden, a murdering poison, and to bear it is an art. And to have that art is rare.
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Controversy is part of the nature of art and creativity.
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When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard.
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All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster's autobiography.
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My parents were divorced when I was three, and both my father and mother moved back into the homes of their parents. I spent the school year with my mother, and the summers with my dad.
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It’s very important to be able to accept things, you know. Gracious acceptance is an art – an art which most of never bother to cultivate. We think that we have to learn how to give, but we forget about accepting things, which can be much harder than giving.
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'Oh, hello,' Dr. M says, shaking Balder's hand. 'Wonderful costume. I'm a bit of a role player myself on the weekends. Tell me, where did you get the helmet?' 'It was forged in the North, blessed by the hands of Odin, given to me by my mother, Frigg,' Balder answers. 'Lovely. I got mine on the Internet.'
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I was 9 years old when my father - a strong, vibrant man in his early 40s - died of a heart attack. He was such a central figure in our lives that losing him was a terrible shock to all of us, my mother in particular.
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The alchemy of good curating amounts to this: Sometimes, placing one work of art near another makes one plus one equal three. Two artworks arranged alchemically leave each intact, transform both, and create a third thing.
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I am not brave enough to not pay my income tax and risk going to jail. But I can say rather freely what I want to say with my art.
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My mother was a fastidious and orderly homemaker. I was the messy but creative type. I picture her following behind me through life with a damp rag and an air of exasperation.
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I love celebrating Mother's Day. Since I was a kid, it was a special day to tell my mother and grandmother how much I love them. Now that I'm a mom, it is a special day to spend with my children.
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The very, very beginning is that my mother and father were aviators.
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The only exercise I got as a kid was fork to mouth. Food was equated with love in my household. I thought you left the table when the zipper was down and you'd explode if you took another bite. I'd eat my plate and then everyone else's leftovers.
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I love going to the cinema, listening to music, yoga and long walks along Holkham beach in Norfolk.
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My father died when I was seven. I guess I am interested in fatherlessness as a metaphor for vulnerability and unprotectedness. Being on your own in the world in a way you're not quite ready for, ever.
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Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.
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Every two, three years there is a movie about the Holocaust because they want you to remember and they want you to be reminded of what it was. When was the last time you seen a movie about slavery?
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Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
