Man Errs, Till He Has Ceased To

The Century Is Advanced, But Every Individual Begins Afresh.

Each Has His Own Happiness In His Hands, As The Artist Handles The Rude Clay He Seeks To Reshape It Into A Figure; Yet It Is The Same With This Art As With All Others: Only The Capacity For It Is Innate; The Art Itself Must Be Learned And Painstakingly Practiced.

All Theory, Dear Friend, Is Gray, But The Golden Tree Of Life Springs Ever Green.

Perfection Is The Measure Of Heaven, And The Wish To Be Perfect The Measure Of Man.

Not Art And Science Only, But Patience Will Be Required For The Work.