Those Who Are Not Conversant In Works

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.

If Deceiving The Eye Were The Only Business Of The Art... The Minute Painter Would Be More Apt To Succeed. But It Is Not The Eye, It Is The Mind Which The Painter Of Genius Desires To Address.

The Distinct Blue, Red, And Yellow Colors... Though They Have Not The Kind Of Harmony Which Is Produced By A Variety Of Broken And Transparent Colors, Have The Effect Of Grandeur.

Genius Is Supposed To Be A Power Of Producing Excellences Which Are Put Of The Reach Of The Rules Of Art: A Power Which No Precepts Can Teach, And Which No Industry Can Acquire.