The Flowers Are Full Of Honey, But

A School Of Art Or Of Anything Else Is To Be Looked On As A Single Individual, Who Keeps Talking To Himself For A Hundred Years, And Feels An Extreme Satisfaction With His Own Circle Of Favorite Ideas, Be They Ever So Silly.

The Rose Is Wont With Pride To Swell, And Ever Seeks To Rise.

It Would Not Be Worth Your While To Reach The Age Of Seventy If All The Wisdom Of The World Were To Be Foolishness Before God.

What We Do Not Understand We Do Not Possess.

Only That Type Of Story Deserves To Be Called Moral That Shows Us That One Has The Power Within Oneself To Act, Out Of The Conviction That There Is Something Better, Even Against One's Own Inclination.