To the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
What has reason to do with the art of painting?
How do you know but ev’ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos’d by your senses five?
I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.
He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
The most sublime act is to set another before you.