Oh God, How Do The

Colors Are Light's Suffering And Joy

Love Grants In A Moment What Toil Can Hardly Acheive In An Age.

Man Knows Himself Only Insofar As He Knows The World, Becoming Aware Of It If Only Within Himself, And Of Himself Self Only Within It. Each New Subject, Well Observed, Opens Up Within Us A New Organ Of Thought.

Money Lost, Something Lost. Honor Lost, Much Lost. Courage Lost, Everything Lost-better You Were Never Born

It Is With Art As With Love: How Can A Man Of The World,with All His Distractions, Keep The Inwardness Which An Artist Must Possess If He Hopes To Attain Perfection? That Inwardness Which The Spectator Must Share If He Is To Understand The Work As The Artist Wishes And Hopes... Believe Me, Talents Are Like Virtues; Either You Must Love Them For Their Own Sake Or Renounce Them Altogether. And They Are Only Recognized And Rewarded When We Have Practised Them In Secret, Like A Dangerous Mystery."