It's Such An Extraordinary Supple Medium That

I Would By All Means Have Men Beware, Lest Æsop's Pretty Fable Of The Fly That Sate [sic] On The Pole Of A Chariot At The Olympic Races And Said, 'what A Dust Do I Raise,' Be Verified In Them. For So It Is That Some Small Observation, And That Disturbed Sometimes By The Instrument, Sometimes By The Eye, Sometimes By The Calculation, And Which May Be Owing To Some Real Change In The Heaven, Raises New Heavens And New Spheres And Circles.

Truth Comes Out Of Error More Readily Than Out Of Confusion.

Whatever You Can, Count.

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.

Truth Is A Naked And Open Daylight, That Does Not Show The Masques, And Mummeries, And Triumphs Of The World, Half So Stately And Daintily As Candle-lights. . . A Mixture Of A Lie Doth Ever Add Pleasure