One Paints With One's Head, Not One's

If It Be True That Any Beautiful Thing Raises The Pure And Just Desire Of Man From Earth To God, The Eternal Fount Of All, Such I Believe My Love.

The Greatest Risk To Man Is Not That He Aims To High And Misses, But That He Aims To Low And Hits.

Dear To Me Is Sleep: Still More, Being Made Of Stone, While Pain And Guilt Still Linger Here Below, Blindness And Numbness--these Please Me Alone; Then Do Not Wake Me, Keep Your Voices Low.

In My Opinion Painting Should Be Considered Excellent In Proportion As It Approaches The Effect Of Relief, While Relief Should Be Considered Bad In Proportion As It Approaches The Effect Of Painting.

There Is No Tongue To Speak His Eulogy; Too Brightly Burned His Splendour For Our Eyes: Far Easier To Condemn His Injurers, Than For The Tongue To Reach His Smallest Worth. He To The Realms Of Sinfulness Came Down, To Teach Mankind; Ascending Then To God, Heaven Unbarred To Him Her Lofty Gates, To Whom His Country Hers Refused To Ope. Ungrateful Land, To Its Own Injury Nurse Of His Fate! Well Too Does This Instruct, That Greatest Ills Fall To The Perfectest. And 'midst A Thousand Proofs, Let This Suffice, That, As His Exile Had No Parallel, So Never Was There Man More Great Than He.