True Art Takes Note Not Merely Of

We Burn The Evil Men Do With Their Mortal Remains. We Treasure The Memory Of The Good They Do, And Distance Magnifies It.

If Euclid's Point, Though Incapable Of Being Drawn By Any Human Agency, Has An Imperishable Value, My Picture Has Its Own For Mankind To Live.

I Crave To Die With My Hand At The Spinning Wheel.

We May Not Be God, But We Are Of God, Even As A Little Drop Of Water Is Of The Ocean.

That Which You Look Upon As Your Own You May Keep Only So Long As The World Allows You To Own It.