He Who Does Not Master The Nude

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.

The Idea Is There Locked Inside. All You Have To Do Is Remove The Excess Stone.

Painters Are Not In Any Way Unsociable Through Pride, But Either Because They Find Few Pursuits Equal To Painting, Or In Order Not To Corrupt Themselves With The Useless Conversation Of Idle People, And Debase The Intellect From The Lofty Imaginations In Which They Are Always Absorbed.

I Saw The Angel In The Marble And Carved Until I Set Him Free.

Many Believe - And I Believe - That I Have Been Designated For This Work By God. In Spite Of My Old Age, I Do Not Want To Give It Up; I Work Out Of Love For God And I Put All My Hope In Him.