Extract The Eternal From The Ephemeral.

I Love To Watch The Fine Mist Of The Night Come On, The Windows And The Stars Illumined, One By One, The Rivers Of Dark Smoke Pour Upward Lazily, And The Moon Rise And Turn Them Silver. I Shall See The Springs, The Summers, And The Autumns Slowly Pass; And When Old Winter Puts His Blank Face To The Glass, I Shall Close All My Shutters, Pull The Curtains Tight, And Build Me Stately Palaces By Candlelight.

Beauty Is The Sole Ambition, The Exclusive Goal Of Taste.

What Is Exhilarating In Bad Taste Is The Aristocratic Pleasure Of Giving Offense.

Nations, Like Families, Have Great Men Only In Spite Of Themselves.

This Industry [photography], By Invading The Territories Of Art, Has Become Art's Most Mortal Enemy.