With Few Words I Shall Make Thee

Trifles Make Perfection, And Perfection Is No Trifle.

My Soul Can Find No Staircase To Heaven Unless It Be Through Earth's Loveliness.

Patience Is Eternal Genius

My Beard Towards Heaven, I Feel My Nape Support / The Back Of My Head, I Grow The Breast Of A Harpy / And My Brush As It Drips Continually / Upon My Face, Makes It A Gorgeous Floor.

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