The painter is, as to the execution of his work, a mechanic; but as to his conception and spirit and design he is hardly below even the poet.
The jest loses its point when he who makes it is the first to laugh.
Art is difficult, transient is her reward.
Man is made of ordinary things, and habit is his nurse.
Chains of iron or of silk-both are chains.
But how is the artist to protect himself against the corruption of the age which besets him on all sides?