William Morris Quotes

Niente può essere un'opera artistica se non è anche utile, vale a dire se non assiste un corpo saldamente controllato dalla mente, o se non diverte, ristora ed eleva una mente in buona salute.

Let tomorrow cross its own rivers.

Il primo passo per rendere attraente il lavoro è consegnare quel che rende fruttuoso il lavoro, il Capitale, compresa la terra, i macchinari, le fabbriche ecc., nelle mani della comunità, perché ne faccia uso per il bene collettivo, in modo che possiamo tutti lavorare per “soddisfare” le vere “domande” di tutti – il che significa lavorare per sopravvivere, invece che per soddisfare la domanda del mercato del profitto, per il profitto, costringendo cioè gli altri uomini a lavorare contro la loro volontà.

Wealth is what Nature gives us and what a reasonable man can make out of the gifts of Nature for his reasonable use. The sunlight, the fresh air, the unspoiled face of the earth, food, raiment and housing necessary and decent; the storing up of knowledge of all kinds, and the power of disseminating it; means of free communication between man and man; works of art, the beauty which man creates when he is most a man, most aspiring and thoughtful — all things which serve the pleasure of people ... This is wealth. Nor can I think of anything worth having which does not come under one or other of these heads. But think, I beseech you, of the product of ... the workshop of the world, and will you not be bewildered, as I am, at the thought of the mass of things which no sane man could desire, but which our useless toil makes — and sells?

"Mais s'ils travaillent en s'appuyant sur la tradition intelligente, leur ouvrage sera l'expression de leur coopération harmonieuse et du plaisir qu'ils y ont pris. Aucune intelligence, même de la plus basse espèce qui soit, n'y a été écrasée ; au contraire, elle a été plutôt subordonnée et utilisée afin que personne, du maître au plus modeste ouvrier, ne puisse s'écrier : " c'est mon oeuvre

What man art thou that thus hast wandered here, And found this lonely chamber where I dwell? Beware, beware! for I have many a spell; If greed of power and gold have led thee on, Not lightly shall this untold wealth be won. But if thou com'st here knowing of my tale, In hope to bear away my body fair, Stout must thine heart be, nor shall that avail If thou a wicked soul in thee dost bear; So once again I bid thee to beware, Because no base man things like this may see, And live thereafter long and happily.

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.

But taking note of these things, at the last The mariner beneath the gateway passed. And there a lovely cloistered court he found, A fountain in the mist o'erthrown and dry, And in the cloister briers twining round The slender shafts; the wondrous imagery Outworn by more than many years gone by; Because the country people, in their fear Of wizardry, had wrought destruction here, And piteously these fair things had been maimed; There stood great Jove, lacking his head of might; Here was the archer, swift Apollo, lamed; The shapely limbs of Venus hid from sight By weeds and shards; Diana's ankles light Bound with the cable of some coasting ship; And rusty nails through Helen's maddening lip.

Drowsy I lie, no folk at my command, Who once was called the Lady of the Land; Who might have bought a kingdom with a kiss, Yea, half the world with such a sight as this.

Forsooth, he that waketh in hell and feeleth his heart fail him, shall have memory of the merry days of earth, and how that when his heart failed him there, he cried on his fellow, were it his wife or his son or his brother or his gossip or his brother sworn in arms, and how that his fellow heard him and came and they mourned together under the sun, till again they laughed together and were but half sorry between them. This shall he think on in hell, and cry on his fellow to help him, and shall find that therein is no help because there is no fellowship, but every man for himself.

As a matter of fact, the history of the terrible period of transition from commercial slavery to freedom may thus be summarised. When the hope of realising a communal condition of life for all men arose, quite late in the nineteenth century, the power of the middle classes, the then tyrants of society, was so enormous and crushing, that to almost all men, even those who had, you may say despite themselves, despite their reason and judgement, conceived such hopes, it seemed a dream. So much was this the case that some of those more enlightened men who were then called Socialists, although they well knew, and even stated in public, that the only reasonable condition of Society was that of pure Communism (such as you now see around you), yet shrunk from what seemed to them the barren task of preaching the realisation of a happy dream. Looking back now, we can see that the great motive-power of the change was a longing for freedom and equality, akin if you please to the unreasonable passion of the lover; a sickness of heart that rejected with loathing the aimless solitary life of the well-educated man of that time: phrases, my dear friend, which have lost their meaning to us of the present day; so far removed we are from the dreadful facts which they represent.

Do not be deceived by the outside appearance of order in our plutocratic society. It fares with it as it does with the older norms of war, that there is an outside look of quite wonderful order about it; how neat and comforting the steady march of the regiment; how quiet and respectable the sergeants look; how clean the polished cannon ... the looks of adjutant and sergeant as innocent-looking as may be, nay, the very orders for destruction and plunder are given with a quiet precision which seems the very token of a good conscience; this is the mask that lies before the ruined cornfield and the burning cottage, and mangled bodies, the untimely death of worthy men, the desolated home.

Long ago there was a little land, over which ruled a regulus or kinglet, who was called King Peter, though his kingdom was but little. He had four sons whose names were Blaise, Hugh, Gregory and Ralph: of these Ralph was the youngest, whereas he was but of twenty winters and one; and Blaise was the oldest and had seen thirty winters. Now it came to this at last, that to these young men the kingdom of their father seemed strait; and they longed to see the ways of other men, and to strive for life. For though they were king's sons, they had but little world's wealth; save and except good meat and drink, and enough or too much thereof; house-room of the best; friends to be merry with, and maidens to kiss, and these also as good as might be; freedom withal to come and go as they would; the heavens above them, the earth to bear them up, and the meadows and acres, the woods and fair streams, and the little hills of Upmeads, for that was the name of their country and the kingdom of King Peter.

I have said as much as that the aim of art was to destroy the curse of labour by making work the pleasurable satisfaction of our impulse towards energy, and giving to that energy hope of producing something worth its exercise.

On the fall of Chartism, the Liberal party—which as an engine of progress was a party without principles or definition, but has been used as a thoroughly adequate expression of English middle-class hypocrisy, cowardice, and short-sightedness—engrossed the whole of the political progressive movement in England, and dragged the working classes along with it, blind as they were to their own interests and the solidarity of labour.