“Life is earnest, art is gay.”

When the wine goes in, strange things come out.

Ever building, building to the clouds, still building higher, and never reflecting that the poor narrow basis cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.

I am called The richest monarch in the Christian world; The sun in my dominion never sets.

It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.

There is a nobility in the world of manners.

Seraphs share with thee Knowledge; but Art, O Man, is thine alone!

For the world is only governed by self-interest.

The average estimate themselves by what they do, the above average by what they are.

Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others. Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart.

Emulation is a noble and just passion, full of appreciation.

Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair.

Truth lives on in the midst of deception.

Even now, nature is the only flame, on which the poetic spirit feeds; from it alone it draws all its power, to it alone it speaks even in the artificial, in the man engaged in culture.

Time consecrates; and what is gray with age becomes religion.

It hinders the creative work of the mind if the intellect examines too closely the ideas as they pour in.

Gray hairs are death’s blossoms.

Graffiti is beautiful; like a brick in the face of a cop.

Finding inner peace is a lost art for with every breath and sigh new stimuli comes and leaves us in a pool of racing thoughts and worries.

Forgiveness is an art.

Art is a private piece of me.

The only art I’ll ever study is stuff I can steal from.

Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere.

Art, if it is successful, needs no explanation.

The goal of life is rapture. Art is the way we experience it.