Speak but one word to me.
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.
The wind is not helpless for any man's need, Nor falleth the rain but for thistle and weed.
By God! I will not tell you more to-day, Judge any way you will - what matters it?
I do not want art for a few any more than education for a few, or freedom for a few.
No man is good enough to be another's master.