The Greatest Man Is He Who Forms

From A Slight, Undetermined Drawing, Where The Ideas Of The Composition And Character Are Just Touched Upon, The Imagination Supplies More Than The Painter Himself, Probably, Could Produce. And We Accordingly Often Find That The Finished Work Disappoints The Expectation That Was Raised From The Sketch.

Nothing Is Denied To Well-directed Labor.

Style In Painting Is The Same As In Writing; A Power Over Materials, Whether Words Or Colors, By Which Conceptions Or Sentiments Are Conveyed.

A Painter Must Compensate The Natural Deficiencies Of His Art. He Has But One Sentence To Utter, But One Moment To Exhibit. He Cannot, Like The Poet Or Historian, Expatiate, And Impress The Mind.

Poetry Operates By Raising Our Curiosity, Engaging The Mind By Degrees To Take An Interest In The Event, Keeping That Event Suspended, And Surprising At Last With An Unexpected Catastrophe. The Painter's Art Is More Confined, And Has Nothing That Corresponds With, Or Perhaps Is Equivalent To, This Power And Advantage Of Leading The Mind On, Till Attention Is Totally Engaged. What Is Done By Painting, Must Be Done At One Blow; Curiosity Has Received At Once All The Satisfaction It Can Ever Have.