If You Can Talk About It, Why

It Is A Pleasure To Stand Upon The Shore, And To See Ships Tost Upon The Sea: A Pleasure To Stand In The Window Of A Castle, And To See A Battle And The Adventures Thereof Below: But No Pleasure Is Comparable To Standing Upon The Vantage Ground Of Truth . . . And To See The Errors, And Wanderings, And Mists, And Tempests, In The Vale Below.

I Would Like My Pictures To Look As If A Human Being Had Passed Between Them, Like A Snail, Leaving A Trail Of The Human Presence And Memory Trace Of Past Events, As The Snail Leaves Its Slime.

Whatever You Can, Count.

There Ought To Be Gardens For All Months In The Year, In Which, Severally, Things Of Beauty May Be Then In Season.

No One Has Yet Been Found So Firm Of Mind And Purpose As Resolutely To Compel Himself To Sweep Away All Theories And Common Notions, And To Apply The Understanding, Thus Made Fair And Even, To A Fresh Examination Of Particulars. Thus It Happens That Human Knowledge, As We Have It, Is A Mere Medley And Ill-digested Mass, Made Up Of Much Credulity And Much Accident, And Also Of The Childish Notions Which We At First Imbibed.