However rich I may have been, I have always lived like a poor man.
The power of one fair face makes my love sublime, for it has weaned my heart from low desires.
No great work of art is ever finished.
Dear to me is sleep: still more, being made of stone, While pain and guilt still linger here below, Blindness and numbness--these please me alone; Then do not wake me, keep your voices low.
Carving is easy, you just go down to the skin and stop.
Let it be enough for you to have bread and live virtuously and poorly like Christ, as I do here. I live meanly and don't bother about life or honor ... and I live with the greatest toil and a thousand worries. It is now about 15 years since I had a happy hour.