Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin (July 1, 1804 – June 8, 1876), best known by her pseudonym George Sand, was a French novelist and memoirist. She is equally well known for her much publicized romantic affairs with a number of celebrities including Frédéric Chopin and Alfred de Musset. (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
Art for the sake of art itself is an idle sentence. Art for the sake of truth, for the sake of what is beautiful and good- that is the creed I seek.
Art is a demonstration of which nature is the proof.
Art is not a study of positive reality, it is the seeking for ideal truth.
Charity degrades those who receive it and hardens those who dispense it.
Guard well within yourself that treasure, kindness. Know how to give without hesitation, how to lose without regret, how to acquire without meanness.
Happiness lies in the consciousness we have of it.
It is a mistake to regard age as a downhill grade toward dissolution. The reverse is true. As one grows older, one climbs with surprising strides.
Let us accept truth, even when it surprises us and alters our views.
Life is a long ache which rarely sleeps and can never be cured.
Life resembles a novel more often than novels resemble life.
Masterpieces are only lucky attempts.
My profession is to be free.
One is happy once one knows the necessary ingredients of happiness: simple tastes, a certain degree of courage, self denial to a point, love of work, and above all, a clear conscience.
Simplicity is the most difficult thing to secure in this world; it is the last limit of experience and the last effort of genius.
The beauty that addresses itself to the eyes is only the spell of the moment; the eye of the body is not always that of the soul.
The beauty that addresses itself to the eyes... is only the spell of the moment; the eye of the body is not always that of the soul.
The capacity for passion is both cruel and divine.
The truth is too simple: one must always get there by a complicated route.
There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.
We cannot tear a single page from our life, but we can throw the whole book into the fire.
Which of us has not some sorrow to dull, or some yoke to cast off?
Work is not man's punishment. It is his reward and his strength and his pleasure.
You must treat your heart as aging libertines treat their bodies- hide it beneath the disguise of paint and subterfuge.