I was never the kind of painter or sculptor who kept a shop.

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.

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

The best of artists has no conception that the marble alone does not contain within itself.

I am always learning.

The greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it.

Can't you see the angel imprisoned in the block of stone trying to get out? I am trying to free him