The Artist Is Always Beginning.

I Desired My Dust To Be Mingled With Yours Forever And Forever And Forever.

Science Is Unpoetic Only To Minds Jaundiced With Sentiment And Romanticism . . . The Great Masters Of The Past Boasted All They Could Of It And Found It Magical.

Utter Originality Is, Of Course, Out Of The Question.

The Only Thing One Can Give An Artist Is Leisure In Which To Work. To Give An Artist Leisure Is Actually To Take Part In His Creation.

With One Day's Reading A Man May Have The Key In His Hands.