Art imitates nature as well as it can, as a pupil follows his master; thus it is a sort of grandchild of God.

The work of art, just like any fragment of human life considered in its deepest meaning, seems to me devoid of value if it does not offer the hardness, the rigidity, the regularity, the luster on every interior and exterior facet, of the crystal.

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

Art is a jealous mistress, and if a man have a genius for painting, poetry, music, architecture, or philosophy, he makes a bad husband and an ill provider.

We possess art lest we perish of the truth.