There Is An Angel Imprisoned In It

I Feast On Wine And Bread, And Feasts They Are.

Trifles Make Perfection But Perfection Is Not A Trifle

Good Painting Is The Kind That Looks Like Sculpture.

No One Has Mastery, Before He Is At The End, Of His Art And His Life.

If In My Youth I Had Realized That The Sustaining Splendour Of Beauty Of With Which I Was In Love Would One Day Flood Back Into My Heart, There To Ignite A Flame That Would Torture Me Without End, How Gladly Would I Have Put Out The Light In My Eyes.