A Quote by Irving Stone

Bleed me of art, and there won't be enough liquid left in me to spit! [Michelangelo Buonorotti] — © Irving Stone
Bleed me of art, and there won't be enough liquid left in me to spit! [Michelangelo Buonorotti]
I'm lucky enough and wealthy enough to be able to buy photographs and buy art that inspires me from day to day. I don't want a Picasso on my wall; it's great art, but it's dead art to me. I'd rather have a photograph by someone I've never heard of that really inspires me.
I always thought I'd get farther. I'd like to blame the world for what I've failed to do, but the failure - the failure that sometimes washes over me as anger, makes me so angry I could spit - is all mine, in the end. What made my obstacles insurmountable, what consigned me to mediocrity, is me, just me. I thought for so long, forever, that I was strong enough -- or I misunderstood what strength was.
When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.
If I spit, they will take my spit and frame it as great art.
There, close enough to spit on--if I'd been a barbarian and inclined to spit--was the dragon.
If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.
I don't understand why they trippin', If you ask me, Flow is just as nice as, I admit the propane, I just spit, probably, Just raise the gas prices, Everybody in the club, Try and get as fresh as me, What you want dog, Trying to stay recession free, And spit, refreshly.
Someone told me once that to create true art you must be willing to bleed and let others watch.
I love art that haunts me, that stays with me, that is left embedded in my mind. I don't really think there is any use for owning or collecting art; it is more about remembering and preserving it in the minds eye and allowing it into your cultural DNA.
If I'm on fire, don't spit on me. I won't spit on you. That's respect. You go your way, and I'll go mine.
Even Michelangelo on his deathbed thought he'd done nothing to ennoble art. He wanted to destroy his work-the Pieta! And this from the greatest artist who ever lived. Of course I am not comparing my work to Michelangelo's. But this eternal dissatisfaction of the artist is what I was talking about.
I suppose people lost interest in me when I left Liverpool; but it wasn't me who left, it was other people who left me. If people had continued to follow me, they would have seen my two good seasons in Turkey which caught the attention of Besiktas and Galatasaray.
My working poor parents told me that I could do better. They taught me that I was as good as anybody else. And it never occurred to them to tell me that I could just rest comfortably and wait for good old Uncle Sugar to feed me, lead me and then bleed me.
When I signed with WWE, a lot of people, even close friends, told me that this place was going to chew me up and spit me out, just because of the way my personality is. It's been an adjustment for me as a human being.
The heaviness leaves, and if I'm patient enough it can be replaced by something I need, somthing that would fill instead of drown and let me breathe instead of bleed.
You left me. You made a pet out of me, and then you left me. If love were food, I would have starved on the bones you gave me.
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