After four tortured years, more than 400 over life-sized figures, I felt as old and as weary as Jeremiah. I was only 37, yet friends did not recognize the old man I had become.

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.

Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.

The hand that follows intellect can achieve.

I cannot live under pressures from patrons, let alone paint.

Even if you are divine, you don't disdain male consorts.

If people knew how hard I worked to get my mastery, it wouldn't seem so wonderful at all.