When Nations Grow Old The Arts Grow

What Has Reasoning To Do With Painting?

Poetry Fettered Fetters The Human Race.

The Tree Which Moves Some To Tears Of Joy Is In The Eyes Of Others Only A Green Thing That Stands In The Way. Some See Nature All Ridicule And Deformity... And Some Scarce See Nature At All. But To The Eyes Of The Man Of Imagination, Nature Is Imagination Itself.

Mysteries Are Not To Be Solved. They Eye Goes Blind When It Only Wants To See Why.

Then My Verse I Dishonor, My Pictures Despise, My Person Degrade And My Temper Chastise; And The Pen Is My Terror, The Pencil My Shame; And My Talents I Bury, And Dead Is My Fame.