I Sometimes Set Myself Thinking And Imagining

An Artist Does His Most Difficult Work When He Steps Back From The Blank Canvas And Thinks About What He Is Going To Create.

Beauty Is The Purgation Of Superfluities.

There Is No Tongue To Speak His Eulogy; Too Brightly Burned His Splendour For Our Eyes: Far Easier To Condemn His Injurers, Than For The Tongue To Reach His Smallest Worth. He To The Realms Of Sinfulness Came Down, To Teach Mankind; Ascending Then To God, Heaven Unbarred To Him Her Lofty Gates, To Whom His Country Hers Refused To Ope. Ungrateful Land, To Its Own Injury Nurse Of His Fate! Well Too Does This Instruct, That Greatest Ills Fall To The Perfectest. And 'midst A Thousand Proofs, Let This Suffice, That, As His Exile Had No Parallel, So Never Was There Man More Great Than He.

Read The Heart And Not The Letter For The Pen Cannot Draw Near The Good Intent.

Every Block Of Stone Has A Statue Inside It And It Is The Task Of The Sculptor To Discover It.