Art is long, life is short; judgement difficult, opportunity transient.

Colors are light's suffering and joy

Tomorrow sees undone, what happens not to-day; Still forward press, nor never tire! The possible, with steadfast trust, Resolve should be by the forelock grasp. Then she will ne'er let go her clasp, And labors on, because she must.

Everything perfect in its kind has to transcend its own kind, it must become something different and incomparable. In some notes the nightingale is still a bird; then it rises above its class and seems to suggest to every winged creature what singing is truly like.

Men show their character in nothing more clearly than what they think laughable.

Few people have the imagination for reality.

We blame equally him who is too proud to put a proper value on his own merit and him who prizes too highly his spurious worth.