Winter Giveth The Fields, And The Trees

One Half The World Must Sweat And Groan That The Other Half May Dream.

What Is Time? The Shadow On The Dial, The Striking Of The Clock, The Running Of The Sand, Day And Night, Summer And Winter, Months, Years, Centuries-these Are But Arbitrary And Outward Signs, The Measure Of Time, Not Time Itself. Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting.

Fame Comes Only When Deserved, And Then Is As Inevitable As Destiny, For It Is Destiny.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.