It takes a long time for a man to look like his portrait.

A picture is finished when all trace of the means used to bring about the end has disappeared.

The explanation is quite simple. I wished to be near my mother.

Mauve is just pink trying to be purple.

To say of a picture, as is often said in its praise, that it shows great and earnest labour, is to say that it is incomplete and unfit for view.

I maintain that two and two would continue to make four, in spite of the whine of the amateur for three, or the cry of the critic for five.

The rare few, who, early in life have rid themselves of the friendship of the many.