There Is No Applause That So Flatters

Nature I Believe In. True Art Aims To, Represent Men And Women, Not As My Little Self Would Have Them, But As They Appear. My Heroes And Heroines I Want Not Extreme Types, All Good Or All Bad; But Human, Mortal--partly Good, Partly Bad. Realism I Need. Pure Mental Abstractions Have No Significance For Me.

Count Art By Gold, And It Fetters The Feet It Once Winged.

The Heart Of Silver Falls Ever Into The Hands Of Brass. The Sensitive Herb Is Eaten As Grass By The Swine.

Histories In Blazonry And Poems In Stone.

A New Life Is Innocent, Like An Empty Page, Ready For The Hard Lessons Ahead. Gennita Low, Facing Fear To Vice, Innocence Must Always Seem Only A Superior Kind Of Chicanery.