“The great artist is a slave to his ideals.”

Something of a person’s character may be observed by how they smile. Some never smile they only grin.

The loveliest faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy.

Music is the fourth great material want, first food, then clothes, then shelter, then music.

The greatest happiness comes from the greatest activity.

Whether one talks well depends very much upon whom he has to talk to.

Few minds wear out; more rust out.

Heaven lent you a soul, Earth will lend a grave.

Within the sacred walls of libraries we find the best thoughts, the purest feelings, and the most exalted imaginings of our race.

Economy is for the poor; the rich may dispense with it.

Excellence in art is largely the result of attention to minutiae, and–prayer.

Truth, like the sun, submits to be obscured; but, like the sun, only for a time.

The grandest of all laws is the law of progressive development. Under it, in the wide sweep of things, men grow wiser as they grow older, and societies better.

We should round every day of stirring action with an evening of thought. We learn nothing of our experience except we muse upon it.

In politics, merit is rewarded by the possessor being raised, like a target, to a position to be fired at.

Men, like musical instruments, seem made to be played upon.

A mother is the best friend God ever gave.

The amount of times I’ve been told something by artists I’m working with, which I’m sure they haven’t told even their significant other or families, is shocking.

Before she was a King, my mother was a peace advocate, a courageous leader, and an accomplished artist.

I’ve always said Moroccan artists are extremely talented, and the world needs to take notice.

Whatever else anyone says he was, he may have been. But Tupac really was a great American artist. The passage of time allows us to see things as they really are: We see the poetry; we see the personality; we see different sides.

Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.

The conclusion does not belong to the artist.

When people appreciate my work, that’s satisfying as an artiste.

Innate in nearly every artistic nature is a wanton, treacherous penchant for accepting injustice when it creates beauty and showing sympathy for and paying homage to aristocratic privilege.