There Are As Many Mediocrities Exalted Through

It Is Not Hope But Despair That Gives Us The Measure Of Our Ambitions. We May Yield Secretly To Beautiful Poems Of Hope But Grief Looms Start And Stripped Of All Veils.

Self-interest Is An Ineffable Feeling Which Shall Follow Us Into God's Very Presence Since They Say There Is A Hierarchy Even Among The Holy Saints.

For Pain Is Perhaps But A Violent Pleasure? Who Could Determine The Point Where Pleasure Becomes Pain, Where Pain Is Still A Pleasure? Is Not The Utmost Brightness Of The Ideal World Soothing To Us, While The Lightest Shadows Of The Physical World Annoy?

In The Silence Of Their Studios, Busied For Days At A Time With Works Which Leave The Mind Relatively Free, Painters Become Like Women; Their Thoughts Can Revolve Around The Minor Facts Of Life And Penetrate Their Hidden Meaning.

The Greatest Joy A Petty Soul Can Taste Is To Dupe A Great Soul And Catch It In A Snare.