The Real Character Of A Man Is

A Room Hung With Pictures Is A Room Hung With Thoughts.

Let Me Recommend To You Not To Have Too Great Dependence On Your Practice Or Memory, However Strong Those Impressions May Have Been Which Are There Deposited. They Are Forever Wearing Out, And Will Be At Least Obliterated, Unless They Are Continually Refreshed And Repaired.

But Young Men Have Not Only This Frivolous Ambition Of Being Thought Masters Of Execution, Inciting Them On The One Hand, But Also Their Natural Sloth Tempting Them On The Other. They Are Terrified At The Prospect Before Them, Of The Toil Required To Attain Exactness. The Impetuosity Of Youth Is Disgusted At The Slow Approaches Of A Regular Siege, And Desires, From Mere Impatience Of Labour, To Take The Citadel By Storm. They Wish To Find Some Shorter Path To Excellence, And Hope To Obtain The Reward Of Eminence By Other Means, Than Those Which The Indispensable Rules Of Art Have Prescribed.

The Value And Rank Of Every Art Is In Proportion To The Mental Labor Employed In It, Or The Mental Pleasure In Producing It.

The Real Character Of A Man Is Found Out By His Amusements.