The Best Artist Has That Thought Alone

The Power Of One Fair Face Makes My Love Sublime, For It Has Weaned My Heart From Low Desires.

The True Work Of Art Is But A Shadow Of The Divine Perfection.

The More The Marble Wastes, The More The Statue Grows.

Led By Long Years To My Last Hours, Too Late, O World, I Know Your Joys For What They Are. You Promise A Peace Which Is Not Yours To Give And The Repose That Dies Before It Is Born. The Years Of Fear And Shame To Which Heaven Now Set A Term, Renew Nothing In Me But The Old Sweet Error In Which, Living Overlong A Man Kills His Soul With No Gain To His Body. I Say And I Know Having Put It To The Proof, That He Has The Better Part In Heaven Whose Death Falls Nearest His Birth.

Do Not Be Concerned That You Might Set A Target Too High And Fail. Be Concerned That You Will Set It Too Low And Succeed.