The Iron Chain And The Silken Cord

Fate Always Wins, For Our Own Heart Within Us Imperiously Furthers Its Designs.

It Is Through Beauty That We Arrive At Freedom.

Votes Should Be Weighed Not Counted.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

Utility Is The Great Idol Of The Age, To Which All Powers Must Do Service And All Talents Swear Allegiance. In This Great Balance Of Utility, The Spiritual Service Of Art Has No Weight, And, Deprived Of All Encouragement, It Vanishes From The Noisy Vanity Fair Of Our Time.