Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.

The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.

Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.