As noble Art has survived noble nature, so too she marches ahead of it, fashioning and awakening by her inspiration. Before Truth sends her triumphant light into the depths of the heart, imagination catches its rays, and the peaks of humanity will be glowing when humid night still lingers in the valleys.

What the inner voice says will not disappoint the hoping soul.

I feel an army in my fist.

Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators.

The voice of the majority is no proof of justice.

This is the curse of an evil deed, that it incites and must bring forth more evil.

Art is the right hand of Nature.