We Boil At Different Degrees.

A Part Of Fate Is The Freedom Of Man. Forever Wells Up The Impulse Of Choosing And Acting In His Soul.

Love Of Beauty Is Taste. The Creation Of Beauty Is Art.

Nature Is Reckless Of The Individual. When She Has Points To Carry, She Carries Them.

An Artist Spends Himself Like The Crayon In His Hand, Till He Is All Gone.

I Am The Lover Of Uncontained And Immortal Beauty. In The Wilderness, I Find Something More Dear And Connate Than In Streets Or Villages. In The Tranquil Landscape, And Especially In The Distant Line Of The Horizon, Man Beholds Somewhat As Beautiful As His Own Nature.