The Spectator, As He Walks The Gallery,

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.

If Deceiving The Eye Were The Only Business Of The Art... The Minute Painter Would Be More Apt To Succeed. But It Is Not The Eye, It Is The Mind Which The Painter Of Genius Desires To Address.

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.

Let Me Recommend To You Not To Have Too Great Dependence On Your Practice Or Memory, However Strong Those Impressions May Have Been Which Are There Deposited. They Are Forever Wearing Out, And Will Be At Least Obliterated, Unless They Are Continually Refreshed And Repaired.

Simplicity Is An Exact Mediumbetween Too Little And Too Much.