The artist has a twofold relation to nature; he is at once her master and her slave.

No two men see the world exactly alike, and different temperaments will apply in different ways a principle that they both acknowledge.

A school of art or of anything else is to be looked on as a single individual, who keeps talking to himself for a hundred years, and feels an extreme satisfaction with his own circle of favorite ideas, be they ever so silly.

All of us have life; few of us have an idea of it.

Smoothly and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is covered.

Whoever gives himself up to solitude, Ah! he is soon alone.

Our passions are true phoenixes; as the old burn out the new straight rise up from the ashes.