Modern Painters ...
John Ruskin was the most influential art critic during the Victorian period. His five volume book Modern Painters was written in opposition against art critics who were opposed to the paintings of J.M.W. Turner. Ruskin was a collector of Turner's works and the two were friends. In his writings, Ruskin was a harsh critic towards classical art, and believe that the landscape paintings of Turner and others demonstrated a superior understanding of "truth."
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
actual animal appearance association beauty become body called character clouds colour combination common conceive conception condition connected consistent creatures delight dependent desire dignity divine effect evident evil examination exist expression faculty fancy farther fear feeling function give given greater hand heart hold human ideal ideas imagination impressions influence instance intellect kind knowledge less light lines look lower material matter means measure mind moral nature necessary never noble object observed operation owing painful painted painter passion perception perfect perhaps picture plant pleasure position present proportion pure reader reason received reference regard relation respect rest seems seen sense separate side signs sources speak species spirit strength suppose taste term Theoretic things thought tion tree true truth typical unity variety whole
Page 88 - One lesson, shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals • Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
Page 37 - From God who is our home. Heaven lies about us in our infancy. Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing boy; But he beholds the light and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy. The youth who daily farther from the East Must travel, still is Nature's priest, And, by the vision splendid, Is on his way attended. At length the man perceives it die away And fade into the light of common day.
Page 162 - Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Page 191 - Sweet flower ! for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature ! That breath'st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature ! TO THE SAME FLOWER.
Page 34 - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 163 - O Proserpina, For the flowers now that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength...
Page 140 - So spake the grisly terror, and in shape, So speaking: and so threatening, grew tenfold More dreadful and deform : on the other side, Incensed with indignation, Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet burned, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
Page 191 - With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought.
Page 191 - I see thee glittering from afar ; — And then thou art a pretty Star ; Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee ! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest...
Page 140 - Gently o'er the accustomed oak. Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green. To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon. Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.