Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.
When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator.
The value of beauty and inspiration is very much underrated, no question. But I want to be clear: I’m not trying to be anyone’s savior. I’m just trying to think about the future and not be sad.
At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
Nothing is beautiful, only man: on this piece of naivete rests all aesthetics, it is the first truth of aesthetics. Let us immediately add its second: nothing is ugly but degenerate man – the domain of aesthetic judgment is therewith defined.
Though I do manage to mumble around in about seven or eight languages, English remains the most beautiful of languages. It will do anything.
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