In art the hand can never execute anything higher than the heart can inspire.
We ought to celebrate this hour by expressions of manly joy. Not thanks, not prayer seem quite the highest or truest name for our communication with the infinite,-but glad and conspiring reception,-reception that becomes giving in its turn, as the receiver is only the All-Giver in part and infancy.
The majority of men are bundles of beginnings.
Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist.
Artists must be sacrificed to their art. Like bees, they must put their lives into the sting they give.