For Knowledge, Too, Is Itself Power.

But The Images Of Men's Wits And Knowledges Remain In Books, Exempted From The Wrong Of Time, And Capable Of Perpetual Renovation.

I Use All Sorts Of Things To Work With: Old Brooms, Old Sweaters, And All Kinds Of Peculiar Tools And Materials... I Paint To Excite Myself, And Make Something For Myself.

The Human Understanding Is No Dry Light, But Receives An Infusion From The Will And Affections... What A Man Had Rather Were True He More Readily Believes.

Above All, Believe It, The Sweetest Canticle Is Nunc Dimittis, When A Man Hath Obtained Worthy Ends And Expectations. Death Hath This Also, That It Openeth The Gate To Good Fame, And Extinguisheth Envy.

Painting Is The Pattern Of One's Own Nervous System Being Projected On Canvas.