Thinking The Deed, And Not The Creed,

The Strength Of Criticism Lies In The Weakness Of The Thing Criticized.

Art Is The Child Of Nature In Whom We Trace The Features Of The Mothers Face.

Sculpture Is More Than Painting. It Is Greater To Raise The Dead To Life Than To Create Phantoms That Seem To Live.

I Love The Season Well When Forest Glades Are Teeming With Bright Forms, Nor Dark And Many-folded Clouds Foretell The Coming Of Storms.

They, The Holy Ones And Weakly, Who The Cross Of Suffering Bore, Folded Their Pale Hands So Meekly, Spake With Us On Earth No More!