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

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

Lord free me of myself, so I can please you!

I give my soul to God, my body to the earth, and my worldly possessions to my nearest of kin, charging them to remember the sufferings of Jesus Christ.

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.

Patience is eternal genius

Perchance that I might learn what pity is, That I might laugh at erring men no more.