True Art Is Made Noble And Religious

Even If You Are Divine, You Don't Disdain Male Consorts.

As When, O Lady Mine, With Chiselled Touch, The Stone Unhewn And Cold, Becomes A Living Mould, The More The Marble Wastes, The More The Statue Grows.

Whenever A Great Painter... Does A Work Which Appears To Be False And Lying, That Falsity Is Very True.

Beauty Is The Purgation Of Superfluities.

Dear To Me Is Sleep: Still More, Being Made Of Stone, While Pain And Guilt Still Linger Here Below, Blindness And Numbness--these Please Me Alone; Then Do Not Wake Me, Keep Your Voices Low.