You Become What You Behold.

Works Of Art Can Only Be Produc'd In Perfection Where The Man Is Either In Affluence Or Is Above The Care Of It.

For Where'er The Sun Does Shine, And Where'er The Rain Does Fall, Babe Can Never Hunger There, Nor Poverty The Mind Appall.

If The Doors Of Perception Were Cleansed Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is, Infinite. For Man Has Closed Himself Up, Till He Sees All Things Thru Chinks Of His Cavern.

Imagination Is The Real And Eternal World Of Which This Vegetable Universe Is But A Faint Shadow.

To Create A Little Flower Is The Labour Of Ages.