such is the holy gift of the Muses to men. For it is through the Muses and far-shooting Apollo that there are singers and harpers upon the earth; but princes are of Zeus, and happy is he whom the Muses love: sweet flows speech from his mouth. For though a man have sorrow and grief in his newly-troubled soul and live in dread because his heart is distressed, yet, when a singer, the servant of the Muses, chants the glorious deeds of men of old and the blessed gods who inhabit Olympus, at once he forgets his heaviness and remembers not his sorrows at all; but the gifts of the goddesses soon turn him away from these.
Seizes on the heart of the judicious.
They see only madness and destruction
In the mockery’s self innate, implicit.
Horror, deeper grief, most dreadful musings
Theirs who penetrate the poet’s purpose!
Aleister Crowley, Oracles, Sabbe Pi Dukkham
The mind must make the heart articulate, and the body the temple of the soul.
Aleister Crowley, New Comment on I. 52, Liber AL vel Legis, The Book of the Law
The sad—the chilling conviction therefore, went to the old man’s heart, that the only being left to solace him on earth, had deserted him; and his spirit was bowed down in despair.
George W M Reynolds, Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf
His heart did not shine with love or service.
Josephine McCarthy, The Last Scabbard
For, sometimes, your heart seems as pure as the snow, While, at other times, dear, you’re one big Ho Ho Ho!
The Honourable Sir Edmund Quimlove, Santa In The Pink, Krampus In The Stink: An Adult Bedtime Poem