If I Haven't Fought For

Of Which Beauty Will You Speak? There Are Many: There Are A Thousand: There Is One For Every Look, For Every Spirit, Adapted To Each Taste, To Each Particular Constitution.

Everyone Knows That Yellow, Orange, And Red Suggest Ideas Of Joy And Plenty. I Can Paint You The Skin Of Venus With Mud, Provided You Let Me Surround It As I Will.

They Say That Each Generation Inherits From Those That Have Gone Before; If This Were So There Would Be No Limit To Man's Improvements Or To His Power Of Reaching Perfection. But He Is Very Far From Receiving Intact That Storehouse Of Knowledge Which The Centuries Have Piled Up Before Him; He May Perfect Some Inventions, But In Others, He Lags Behind The Originators, And A Great Many Inventions Have Been Lost Entirely. What He Gains On The One Hand, He Loses On The Other.

I Have Told Myself A Hundred Times That Painting - That Is, The Material Thing Called A Painting - Is No More Than A Pretext, The Bridge Between The Mind Of The Painter And The Mind Of The Spectator.

Curiously Enough, The Sublime Is Generally Achieved Through Want Of Proportion.