The vast majority of English folk cannot and will not consider a picture as a picture, apart from any story which it may be supposed to tell.

Mauve is just pink trying to be purple.

The work of a master reeks not of the sweat of the brow - suggests no effort - and is finished from its beginning.

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

Art is limited to the infinite, and beginning there cannot progress.

I can't tell you if genius is hereditary, because heaven has granted me no offspring.

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.