The Artist Who Is Not Also A

Men Are So Constituted That Every One Undertakes What He Sees Another Successful In, Whether He Has Aptitude For It Or Not.

The Bed Of Flowers Loosens Amain, The Beauteous Snowdrops Droop O'er The Plain. The Crocus Opens Its Glowing Bud, Like Emeralds Others, Others, Like Blood. With Saucy Gesture Primroses Flare, And Roguish Violets, Hidden With Care; And Whatsoever There Stirs And Strives, The Spring's Contented, If Works And Thrives.

Nothing Is More Consonant With Nature Than That She Puts Into Operation In The Smallest Detail That Which She Intends As A Whole.

Every Day Look At A Beautiful Picture, Read A Beautiful Poem, Listen To Some Beautiful Music, And If Possible, Say Some Reasonable Thing.

Every Day I Observe More And More The Folly Of Judging Of Others By Ourselves; And I Have So Much Trouble With Myself, And My Own Heart Is In Such Constant Agitation, That I Am Well Content To Let Others Pursue Their Own Course, If They Only Allow Me The Same Privilege.