One Should Not Be Too

The True Wisdom Of The Philosopher Ought To Insist In Enjoying Everything. Yet We Apply Ourselves To Dissecting And Destroying Everything That Is Good In Itself, That Has Virtue, Albeit The Virtue There Is In Mere Illusions. Nature Gives Us This Life Like A Toy To A Weak Child. We Want To See How It All Works; We Break Everything. There Remains In Our Hands, And Before Our Eyes, Stupid And Opened Too Late, The Sterile Wreckage, Fragments That Will Not Again Make A Whole. The Good Is So Simple.

God Is That Inner Presence Which Makes Us Admire The Beautiful And Consoles Us For Not Sharing The Happiness Of The Wicked.

The Artist Who Aims At Perfection In Everything Achieves It In Nothing.

Nature Is A Dictionary; One Draws Words From It.

Cold Exactitude Is Not Art; Ingenious Artifice, When It Pleases Or When It Expresses, Is Art Itself.