From labor there shall come forth rest.

Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just

Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly.

Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow.

You would attain to the divine perfection.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.

No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead.