The Artist Belongs To His Work, Not

It Is Not Merely The Multiplicity Of Tints, The Gladness Of Tone, Or The Balminess Of The Air Which Delight In The Spring; It Is The Still Consecrated Spirit Of Hope, The Prophecy Of Happy Days Yet To Come; The Endless Variety Of Nature, With Presentiments Of Eternal Flowers Which Never Shall Fade, And Sympathy With The Blessedness Of The Ever-developing World.

You Are Alone With Everything You Love.

We Are Near Awakening When We Dream That We Dream.

Mathematics Is The Life Of The Gods.

A Certain Degree Of Solitude Seems Necessary To The Full Growth And Spread Of The Highest Mind; And Therefore Must A Very Extensive Intercourse With Men Stifle Many A Holy Germ, And Scare Away The Gods, Who Shun The Restless Tumult Of Noisy Companies And The Discussion Of Petty Interests.