The Best Of Artists Hath

It Is Therefore Indisputable That The Limbs Of Architecture Are Derived From The Limbs Of Man.

Heaven-born, The Soul A Heavenward Course Must Hold; Beyond The World She Soars; The Wise Man, I Affirm, Can Find No Rest In That Which Perishes, Nor Will He Lend His Heart To Ought That Doth Time Depend

Good Painting Is The Kind That Looks Like Sculpture.

Do Not Be Concerned That You Might Set A Target Too High And Fail. Be Concerned That You Will Set It Too Low And Succeed.

Led By Long Years To My Last Hours, Too Late, O World, I Know Your Joys For What They Are. You Promise A Peace Which Is Not Yours To Give And The Repose That Dies Before It Is Born. The Years Of Fear And Shame To Which Heaven Now Set A Term, Renew Nothing In Me But The Old Sweet Error In Which, Living Overlong A Man Kills His Soul With No Gain To His Body. I Say And I Know Having Put It To The Proof, That He Has The Better Part In Heaven Whose Death Falls Nearest His Birth.