Masterpiece Quotes

“You can’t, if you can’t feel it, if it never
Rises from the soul, and sways
The heart of every single hearer,
With deepest power, in simple ways.
You’ll sit forever, gluing things together,
Cooking up a stew from other’s scraps,
Blowing on a miserable fire,
Made from your heap of dying ash.
Let apes and children praise your art,
If their admiration’s to your taste,
But you’ll never speak from heart to heart,
Unless it rises up from your heart’s space.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, First Part

“Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist--a master--and that is what Auguste Rodin was--can look at an old woman, portray her exactly as she is . . . and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be . . . and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land

“We are, not metaphorically but in very truth, a Divine work of art, something that God is making, and therefore something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character. Here again we come up against what I have called the “intolerable compliment.” Over a sketch made idly to amuse a child, an artist may not take much trouble: he may be content to let it go even though it is not exactly as he meant it to be. But over the great picture of his life—the work which he loves, though in a different fashion, as intensely as a man loves a woman or a mother a child—he will take endless trouble—and would doubtless, thereby give endless trouble to the picture if it were sentient. One can imagine a sentient picture, after being rubbed and scraped and re-commenced for the tenth time, wishing that it were only a thumb-nail sketch whose making was over in a minute. In the same way, it is natural for us to wish that God had designed for us a less glorious and less arduous destiny; but then we are wishing not for more love but for less.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

“Make your lives a masterpiece, you only get one canvas.”
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

“My body is an ugly masterpiece that lives off the beauty of sound.”
― Chad Sugg

“Today, you have the opportunity to transcend from a disempowered mindset of existence to an empowered reality of purpose-driven living. Today is a new day that has been handed to you for shaping. You have the tools, now get out there and create a masterpiece.”
― Steve Maraboli, The Power Of One

“When love is at the base of something, it is a masterpiece.”
― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

“Patience is the essence of clicking great Photographs!!”
― Abhijeet Sawant

“Overmodulation
By Charlotte M Liebel-Fawls

You're a cavity in my oasis,
You're a porthole in my sea,
You're a stretch of the imagination
every time you look at me.

You're an ocean in my wineglass,
You're a Steinway on the beach,
You're a captivating audience,
an exciting Rembrandt,

A Masterpiece.”
― Charlotte M. Liebel

“One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor's quill! Give me Vesuvius' crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make me faint with their out-reaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. Such, and so magnifying, is the virtue of a large and liberal theme! We expand to its bulk. To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or, The Whale

“Nothing is a masterpiece - a real masterpiece - till it's about two hundred years old. A picture is like a tree or a church, you've got to let it grow into a masterpiece. Same with a poem or a new religion. They begin as a lot of funny words. Nobody knows whether they're all nonsense or a gift from heaven. And the only people who think anything of 'em are a lot of cranks or crackpots, or poor devils who don't know enough to know anything. Look at Christianity. Just a lot of floating seeds to start with, all sorts of seeds. It was a long time before one of them grew into a tree big enough to kill the rest and keep the rain off. And it's only when the tree has been cut into planks and built into a house and the house has got pretty old and about fifty generations of ordinary lumpheads who don't know a work of art from a public convenience, have been knocking nails in the kitchen beams to hang hams on, and screwing hooks in the walls for whips and guns and photographs and calendars and measuring the children on the window frames and chopping out a new cupboard under the stairs to keep the cheese and murdering their wives in the back room and burying them under the cellar flags, that it begins even to feel like a religion. And when the whole place is full of dry rot and ghosts and old bones and the shelves are breaking down with old wormy books that no one could read if they tried, and the attic floors are bulging through the servants' ceilings with old trunks and top-boots and gasoliers and dressmaker's dummies and ball frocks and dolls-houses and pony saddles and blunderbusses and parrot cages and uniforms and love letters and jugs without handles and bridal pots decorated with forget-me-nots and a piece out at the bottom, that it grows into a real old faith, a masterpiece which people can really get something out of, each for himself. And then, of course, everybody keeps on saying that it ought to be pulled down at once, because it's an insanitary nuisance.”
― Joyce Cary, The Horse's Mouth

“I golf like a Jackson Pollock painting. I splatter my shots all over the place—and then I act like I just produced a masterpiece.”
― Jarod Kintz, To be good at golf you must go full koala bear

“Even though artists of all kinds claim to put their hearts and souls into their works, it will only confuse you, for example, if you try to discern a painter by his paintings. His masterpiece may be the master because of its iridescence; it may display a hundred different perspectives through his single face.”
― Criss Jami, Diotima, Battery, Electric Personality

“A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“(The Mona Lisa), that really is the ugliest portrait I’ve seen, the only thing that supposedly makes it famous is the mystery behind it,” Katherine admitted as she remembered her trips to the Louvre and how she shook her head at the poor tourists crowding around to see a jaundiced, eyebrow-less lady that reminded her of tight-lipped Washington on the dollar bill. Surely, they could have chosen a better portrait of the First President for their currency?”
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

“When I golf, I use just enough strokes to create a masterpiece, like I'm a painter. The score I post up would look great on a museum wall.”
― Jarod Kintz, To be good at golf you must go full koala bear

“Releasing the need to be perfect is what paradoxically often leads to perfection.”
― James Morcan

“A woman of God is a Masterpiece, perfectly designed to be a mouthpiece of God.”
― Gift Gugu Mona, Woman of Virtue: Power-Filled Quotes for a Powerful Woman

“To produce a masterpiece requires grand ideas, unswerving commitment to the dream, years of sweat and pain…Such beauty does not come cheaply.”
― Brock Meier, The Stone Cutter: A novel of Petra In Ancient Arabia

“«Feia tants dies, mesos, que no sentia l’impuls d’escriure, d’escriure literàriament alguna cosa digne de ser llegida, que segurament no s’hi hauria agafat si no hagués estat per la pluja. La pluja l’havia inspirat mil vegades des de l’adolescència, i al llarg de gairebé quaranta anys fins el dia d’avui, però feia tants dies, mesos, que l’impuls no l’agafava pels pebrots i el llençava a l’abisme d’omplir de lletres la pantalla blanca i buida, que quan per fi es va decidir, no sabia on agafar-se. La novel·la inacabada de torn, per no parlar de les que feia anys que dormien el son sord dels avortaments, li semblava massa enrevessada per a aquella engruna d’inspiració filla d’un ruixat: es passaria una hora rellegint cabdellets, una altra perfilant l’agulla, i perdria el fil abans de lligar la primera puntada.
Potser podia repassar un dels darrers contes, que són fàcils d’entallar però sovint costa acabar de cosir, tot i que fins i tot això li resultava remot, com l’eco de una veu que ja no sentia seva. D’altra banda, devia tenir mig centenar de contes polits i a punt d’editar que també dormien als llimbs, probablement per sempre.
Li constava que la literatura, o més ben dit l’esforç narratiu creatiu, li havia salvat la vida. Li havia justificat gairebé quatre dècades de respirar i fer la viu-viu, esperant sempre que al capdavall ell, ell com a individu més enllà de cap altra persona, hi descobrís un sentit genuí, transcendent, que li compensés poc o molt totes les hores, esperances, il·lusions i etcèteres que ja a l’adolescència i sense ser-ne gaire conscient havia dipositat en la màgia, sovint desagraïda per no dir traïdora, de la creació literària».

· Les muses - Jordi Cussà”
― Jordi Cussà, Les muses

“«Feia tants dies, mesos, que no sentia l’impuls d’escriure, d’escriure literàriament alguna cosa digne de ser llegida, que segurament no s’hi hauria agafat si no hagués estat per la pluja. La pluja l’havia inspirat mil vegades des de l’adolescència, i al llarg de gairebé quaranta anys fins el dia d’avui, però feia tants dies, mesos, que l’impuls no l’agafava pels pebrots i el llençava a l’abisme d’omplir de lletres la pantalla blanca i buida, que quan per fi es va decidir, no sabia on agafar-se. La novel·la inacabada de torn, per no parlar de les que feia anys que dormien el son sord dels avortaments, li semblava massa enrevessada per a aquella engruna d’inspiració filla d’un ruixat: es passaria una hora rellegint cabdellets, una altra perfilant l’agulla, i perdria el fil abans de lligar la primera puntada.
Potser podia repassar un dels darrers contes, que són fàcils d’entallar però sovint costa acabar de cosir, tot i que fins i tot això li resultava remot, com l’eco de una veu que ja no sentia seva. D’altra banda, devia tenir mig centenar de contes polits i a punt d’editar que també dormien als llimbs, probablement per sempre.
Li constava que la literatura, o més ben dit l’esforç narratiu creatiu, li havia salvat la vida. Li havia justificat gairebé quatre dècades de respirar i fer la viu-viu, esperant sempre que al capdavall ell, ell com a individu més enllà de cap altra persona, hi descobrís un sentit genuí, transcendent, que li compensés poc o molt totes les hores, esperances, il·lusions i etcèteres que ja a l’adolescència i sense ser-ne gaire conscient havia dipositat en la màgia, sovint desagraïda per no dir traïdora, de la creació literària».

· Les muses - Jordi Cussà Balaguer”
― Jordi Cussà, Les muses

“The world awaits the unique masterpiece that only you can compose with the GENIUS in YOU!”
― Dr. Tracey Bond

“Per Antolìn, il principale, forse l’unico valore dei grandi capolavori dell’ingegno umano consiste nell’aver dato luogo a un libro di critica o di commento: i grandi artisti, poeti, pittori, musicisti, storici, filosofi, sono nati perché un erudito possa scriverne la biografia e un critico commentarne l’opera, e una qualsiasi frase di un grande scrittore non ha alcun valore finché un erudito non la ripete e cita l’opera, l’edizione e la pagina da cui l’ha tratta. E tutta quella storia della solidarietà del lavoro collettivo non era altro che invidia e impotenza. Egli apparteneva alla progenie di quei commentatori di Omero che se lo stesso Omero redivivo fosse entrato cantando nel loro studio l’avrebbero cacciato fuori a spintoni perché li distoglieva dal lavoro sui suoi testi morti e dalla ricerca di qualche preziosissimo hapax.”
― Miguel de Unamuno, Niebla

“Heart a kaleidoscope, mind a labyrinthine maze, each soul dances to a rhythm only they hear. Though paths converge, the tapestry they weave remains their own, a masterpiece in solitude's embrace”
― Huzefa Nalkheda wala

“In the canvas of the coming year, paint not just with colors of knowledge, but with the bold strokes of your inner genius, crafting a masterpiece unique to your vision.”
― Dr. Tracey Bond

“Despite it being a preliminary drawing, the execution is first-rate, the style exceptional. Clean lines, controlled proficiency, a master’s touch. Expert blending of light into shade. Chiaroscuro at its finest.”
― Lisa Medved, The Engraver's Secret

“Curve of buttocks and bare shoulders, diaphanous fabric skimming over full, rounded breasts, a gentle swell of belly. Fertile and feminine. Curves and plumpness artfully displayed in a glorification
of womanhood.”
― Lisa Medved, The Engraver's Secret

“Every step is like stepping into a masterpiece, where every detail captures the soul in poetic frames.”
― David Passarelli, Mountain poems: Musings on stone, forest, and snow

“An art expands its audience by presenting masterpieces, not mediocrity.”
― Dana Gioia, Can Poetry Matter?: Essays on Poetry and American Culture

“If you can't see the beauty in your darkness, if you don't think that maybe you might be a little piece of magic, don't dare and say that you are just another person, because you are a masterpiece.”
― DarkNightBeacon