If You Can't Make Art, Make Your

In Art, We Are The First Heirs Of All The Earth. . . . Accidents Impair And Time Transforms, But It Is We Who Choose.

Youth Is A Religion From Which One Always Ends Up Being Converted.

The Only Domain Where The Divine Is Visible Is That Of Art, Whatever Name We Choose To Call It.

The Present Age Delights In Unearthing A Great Man's Secrets; For One Thing Because We Like To Temper Our Admiration And Also Perhaps We Have A Vague Hope Of Finding A Clue To Genius In Such "revelations."

The Mind Supplies The Idea Of A Nation, But What Gives This Idea Its Sentimental Force Is A Community Of Dreams.