It Is Well With Me Only When

I Live In Sin, To Kill Myself I Live; No Longer My Life My Own, But Sin's; My Good Is Given To Me By Heaven, My Evil By Myself, By My Free Will, Of Which I Am Deprived.

Love Is A Beautiful Image Imagined Or Seen Within The Heart, The Friend Of Virtue And Gentility.

I Criticise By Creation, Not By Finding Fault.

The Greatest Artist Has No Conception Which A Single Block Of White Marble Does Not Potentially Contain Within Its Mass, But Only A Hand Obedient To The Mind Can Penetrate To This Image.

I Am A Poor Man And Of Little Worth, Who Is Laboring In That Art That God Has Given Me In Order To Extend My Life As Long As Possible.