O Thrush, Your Song Is

There Was A Knight Came Riding By In Early Spring, When The Roads Were Dry; And He Heard That Lady Sing At The Noon, Two Red Roses Across The Moon.

There Is No Excuse For Doing Anything Which Is Not Strikingly Beautiful.

The True Secret Of Happiness Lies In Taking A Genuine Interest In All The Details Of Daily Life.

I Have Said As Much As That The Aim Of Art Was To Destroy The Curse Of Labour By Making Work The Pleasurable Satisfaction Of Our Impulse Towards Energy, And Giving To That Energy Hope Of Producing Something Worth Its Exercise.

What Is An Artist But A Workman Who Is Determined That, Whatever Else Happens, His Work Shall Be Excellent?