How Can This World, Which Is So

Draughtsmen May Be Made, But Colourists Are Born.

I Am Carrying Out My Plan, So Long Formulated, Of Keeping A Journal. What I Most Keenly Wish Is Not To Forget That I Am Writing For Myself Alone. Thus I Shall Always Tell The Truth, I Hope, And Thus I Shall Improve Myself. These Pages Will Reproach Me For My Changes Of Mind.

There Is No Merit In Being Truthful When One Is Truthful By Nature, Or Rather When One Can Be Nothing Else; It Is A Gift, Like Poetry Or Music. But It Needs Courage To Be Truthful After Carefully Considering The Matter, Unless A Kind Of Pride Is Involved; For Example, The Man Who Says To Himself, "i Am Ugly," And Then Says, "i Am Ugly" To His Friends, Lest They Should Think Themselves The First To Make The Discovery.

In Every Art We Are Always Obliged To Return To The Accepted Means Of Expression, The Conventional Language Of The Art. What Is A Black-and-white Drawing But A Convention To Which The Beholder Has Become So Accustomed That With His Mind's Eye He Sees A Complete Equivalent In The Translation From Nature?

The More An Object Is Polished Or Brilliant, The Less You See Its Own Color And The More It Becomes A Mirror Reflecting The Color Of Its Surroundings.