A painter must compensate the natural deficiencies of his art. He has but one sentence to utter, but one moment to exhibit. He cannot, like the poet or historian, expatiate, and impress the mind.

There is no expedient to which a man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking.

The real character of a man is found out by his amusements.

Few have been taught to any purpose who have not been their own teachers.

A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts.

Our Exhibitions [The Royal Academy] have... a mischievous tendency, by seducing the Painter to an ambition of pleasing indiscriminately the mixed multitude of people who resort to them.

Art in its perfection is not ostentatious; it lies hid and works its effect, itself unseen.

The great end of all arts is to make an impression on the imagination and the feeling. The imitation of nature frequently does this. Sometimes it fails and something else succeeds.

A mere copier of nature can never produce anything great.

Taste depends upon those finer emotions which make the organization of the soul.

Genius is supposed to be a power of producing excellences which are put of the reach of the rules of art: a power which no precepts can teach, and which no industry can acquire.

Coming to Christ is not an event. It is a process where we keep trying and trying and never give up.

Each day has a color, a smell.

Tears are nature's lotion for the eyes. The eyes see better for being washed by them.

I mean, look at us. We're all alone in my bedroom and I'm not feeling any urge to make any kinda move on you. That's a pretty big problem.

Body am I entirely, and nothing else; and soul is only a word for something about the body.

Our unconscious is really good at quick decision-making - it often delivers a better answer than more deliberate and exhaustive ways of thinking.

If you were to ask me to speak Swedish or Dutch or German, I have no idea if I could pull that off!

My struggle is to bring 'life' in 'file'.

Wisdom was a teapot, pouring from above. Desolation angels, served it up with love.

There could be no extreme vanity in my recognition of myself, if in fact there could be any at all.