The difference between a bad artist and a good one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal; the good one really does.

This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.

Travelers repose and dream among my leaves.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

What has reason to do with the art of painting?

When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.