I have this rage that I can't explain. It's sad. — Peter Davis, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
I have this rage that I can't explain. It's sad. — Peter Davis, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
I have this rage that I can't explain. It's sad. — Peter Davis, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
I have this rage that I can't explain. It's sad. — Peter Davis, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
I have this rage that I can't explain. It's sad. — Peter Davis, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
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I have this rage that I can't explain. It's sad.

— Peter Davis, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
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More “Art” Quotes

On a long flight, after periods of crisis and many hours of fatigue, mind and body may become disunited until at times t — Charles A. Lindbergh, The Spirit of St. Louis
Her hands crept around his neck, tangling in his hair to keep him closer, even though she knew that beautiful boys with — Martina Boone
You can’t buy time, Nick. Ever. It’s the only thing in life you can’t get most of, and it’s the one thing that will merc — Sherrilyn Kenyon, Invincible
Art is the whisper of history, heard above the noise of time. — Julian Barnes, The Noise of Time
If New Orleans is not fully in the mainstream of culture, neither is it fully in the mainstream of time. Lacking a well- — Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume
Art enables us to find ourselves and loose ourselves at the same time. — Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island
What use was time to those who'd soon achieve Digital Immortality? — Clyde DeSouza, Memories With Maya
Work on." Work as if every time you started with and every time you finish. — Leopold von Sacher-Masoch
Time is, in fact, a cross to bear, it passes on inexorably and remorselessly, destroying everything in its wake, save ar — Jack Schmitt
we may say that History develops, Art stands still — E.M. Forster, Aspects of the Novel
For some reason, the sight of snow descending on fire always makes me think of the ancient world – legionaries in sheeps — Anthony Powell, A Question of Upbringing
Too often we only identify the crucial points in our lives in retrospect. At the time we are too absorbed in the fetid d — Jay Rayner, Eating Crow: A Novel of Apology