The hand that follows intellect can achieve.

In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.

As when, O lady mine, With chiselled touch, The stone unhewn and cold, Becomes a living mould, The more the marble wastes, The more the statue grows.

My soul can find no staircase to Heaven unless it be through Earth's loveliness.

Perfection is no small thing, but it is made up of small things.

If I am more alive because love burns and chars me, as a fire, given wood or wind, feels new elation, it's that he who lays me low is my salvation, and invigorates the more, the more he scars me.

I am a poor man and of little worth, who is laboring in that art that God has given me in order to extend my life as long as possible.