William Blake on art

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thru’ narrow chinks of his cavern.

I was angry with my friend I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.

What is now proved was once only imagined.

If music be the food of love, play on.

William Shakespeare1564–1616Twelfth Night (1601), Act I, scene i.In context

• Love
• Music

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost1874–1963

• Poetry

Music makes one feel so romantic⁠—at least it always gets on one’s nerves⁠—which is the same thing nowadays.

Oscar Wilde1854–1900

• Love
• Music