To Rankling Poison Hast Thou Turned In

Our Safety Is Not In Blindness, But In Facing Our Dangers.

But How Is The Artist To Protect Himself Against The Corruption Of The Age Which Besets Him On All Sides?

Whatever Lives, Lives To Die In Sorrow. We Engage Our Hearts, And Grasp After The Things Of This World, Only To Undergo The Pang Of Losing Them.

As Inclination Changes, Thus Ebbs And Flows The Unstable Tide Of Public Judgment.

Man Is Made Of Ordinary Things, And Habit Is His Nurse.