No artist knows in his own lifetime whether what he does will be the slightest good, because it takes at least seventy-five to a hundred years before the thing begins to sort itself out.

What is truth? said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for an answer.

The light that a man receives by counsel from another is drier and purer than that which comes from his own understanding and judgment, which is ever infused and drenched in his affections and customs.

Houses are built to live in, and not to look on: therefore let use be preferred before uniformity.

In one and the same fire, clay grows hard and wax melts.

Of great wealth there is no real use, except in its distribution, the rest is just conceit.

The monuments of wit survive the monuments of power.