It Is One Of The Arts Of

The Worth Of A Book Is A Matter Of Expressed Juices.

He That Shrinks From The Grave With Too Great A Dread, Has An Invisible Fear Behind Him Pushing Him Into It.

He Has But One Great Fear That Fears To Do Wrong.

I Once Asked A Distinguished Artist What Place He Gave To Labor In Art. "labor," He In Effect Said, "is The Beginning, The Middle, And The End Of Art." Turning Then To Another--"and You," I Inquired, "what Do You Consider As The Great Force In Art?" "love," He Replied. In Their Two Answers I Found But One Truth.

It May Almost Be Held That The Hope Of Commercial Gain Has Done Nearly As Much For The Cause Of Truth As Even The Love Of Truth.