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.

With few words I shall make thee understand my soul.

No thought is born in me that does not bear the image of death.

Serene I fold my hands and wait.

The marble not yet carved can hold the form of every thought the greatest artist has.

The power of one fair face makes my love sublime, for it has weaned my heart from low desires.

However rich I may have been, I have always lived like a poor man.