The Joy Of A Strong Nature Is

Belief Of Some Sort Is The Lifeblood Of Art.

Honor Is An Old-world Thing; But It Smells Sweet To Those In Whose Hand It Is Strong.

The Heart Of Silver Falls Ever Into The Hands Of Brass. The Sensitive Herb Is Eaten As Grass By The Swine.

Nature I Believe In. True Art Aims To, Represent Men And Women, Not As My Little Self Would Have Them, But As They Appear. My Heroes And Heroines I Want Not Extreme Types, All Good Or All Bad; But Human, Mortal--partly Good, Partly Bad. Realism I Need. Pure Mental Abstractions Have No Significance For Me.

No Great Talker Ever Did Any Great Thing Yet, In This World.