My Soul Can Find No

There Is No Tongue To Speak His Eulogy; Too Brightly Burned His Splendour For Our Eyes: Far Easier To Condemn His Injurers, Than For The Tongue To Reach His Smallest Worth. He To The Realms Of Sinfulness Came Down, To Teach Mankind; Ascending Then To God, Heaven Unbarred To Him Her Lofty Gates, To Whom His Country Hers Refused To Ope. Ungrateful Land, To Its Own Injury Nurse Of His Fate! Well Too Does This Instruct, That Greatest Ills Fall To The Perfectest. And 'midst A Thousand Proofs, Let This Suffice, That, As His Exile Had No Parallel, So Never Was There Man More Great Than He.

If People Knew How Hard I Worked At My Art, They Would Not Consider Me A Genius.

Lord, Grant That I May Always Desire More Than I Can Accomplish.

If There Is Some Good In Me, It Is Because I Was Born In The Subtle Atmosphere Of Your Country Of Arezzo. Along With The Milk Of My Nurse I Received The Knack Of Handling Chisel And Hammer, With Which I Make My Figures.

Perchance That I Might Learn What Pity Is, That I Might Laugh At Erring Men No More.