Fate Hath No Voice But The Heart's

Only Through Beauty's Morning-gate, Dost Thou Penetrate The Land Of Knowledge.

To Know Thyself--in Others Self-concern; Would'st Thou Know Others? Read Thyself--and Learn!

I Speak With The Eternal Through The Instrument Of Nature, Through The World's History: I Read The Soul Of The Artist In His Apollo.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

Rarely Do We Arrive At The Summit Of Truth Without Running Into Extremes; We Have Frequently To Exhaust The Part Of Error, And Even Of Folly, Before We Work Our Way Up To The Noble Goal Of Tranquil Wisdom.