Art is the expression of those beauties and emotions that stir the human soul.

If in making a picture you introduce two ideas, you weaken it by half-if three, it weakens by compound ratio-if four, the picture will be really too weak to consider at all and the human interest would be entirely lost.

What is done is done; and the cracked egg cannot be cured.

Throw your heart into the picture and then jump in after it.

The stories of childhood leave an indelible impression, and their author always has a niche in the temple of memory from which the image is never cast out to be thrown on the rubbish heap of things that are outgrown and outlived.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.