No doubt the artist is the child of his time; but woe to him if he is also its disciple, or even its favorite.

To save all we must risk all.

Weep, for the light is dead.

Not without a shudder may the human hand reach into the mysterious urn of destiny.

If thou art something bring thy soul and interchange with mine. - Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller.

A noble soul spreads even over a face in which the architectonic beauty is wanting an irresistible grace, and a often even triumphs over the natural disfavor.

We are too prone to find fault; let us look for some of the perfections.