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.

I live and love in God's peculiar light.

Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.

I feast on wine and bread, and feasts they are.

Lord, make me see thy glory in every place.

There is an angel imprisoned in it and I must set it free.

Art is a shadow of Divine perfection.