The Things One Experiences Alone

Nourish Yourself With Grand And Austere Ideas Of Beauty That Feed The Soul Seek Solitude.

Real Beauty In The Arts Is Eternal And Would Be Accepted At All Periods; But It Wears The Dress Of Its Century: Something Of That Dress Clings To It, And Woe To The Works Which Appear In Periods When The General Taste Is Corrupted.

The Source Of Genius Is Imagination Alone.

A Taste For Simplicity Cannot Last For Long.

As For The Ridiculous Fear Of Making Things Below One's Potential Abilities... No, There Is The Root Of The Evil. There Is The Hiding Place Of Stupidity I Must Attack: Vain Mortal, You Are Limited By Nothing.