If a chap can't compose an epic poem while he's weaving tapestry, he had better shut up, he'll never do any good at all.

Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.

...If our houses, or clothes, our household furniture and utensils are not works of art, they are either wretched makeshifts, or, what is worse, degrading shams of better things.

What is an artist but a workman who is determined that, whatever else happens, his work shall be excellent?

I have said as much as that the aim of art was to destroy the curse of labour by making work the pleasurable satisfaction of our impulse towards energy, and giving to that energy hope of producing something worth its exercise.

By God! I will not tell you more to-day, Judge any way you will - what matters it?

The reward of labour is life. Is that not enough?