A Good Reader Makes A Good Book

It Depends Little On The Object, Much On The Mood, In Art.

If Eyes Were Made For Seeing, Then Beauty Is Its Own Excuse For Being.

So Much Of Our Time Is Spent In Preparation, So Much In Routine, And So Much In Retrospect, That The Amount Of Each Person's Genius Is Confined To A Very Few Hours.

The Soul Is Not Born; It Does Not Die; It Was Not Produced From Anyone… Unborn, Eternal, It Is Not Slain, Though The Body Is Slain.

The Torpid Artist Seeks Inspiration At Any Cost, By Virtue Or By Vice, By Friend Or By Fiend, By Prayer Or By Wine.