In a tree there is a spirit of life, a spirit of growth and a spirit of holding its head up.

Why do we love the sea? It is because it has some potent power to make us think things we like to think.

A work of art is the trace of a magnificent struggle.

Good composition is like a suspension bridge - each line adds strength and takes none away.

Paint the flying spirit of the bird rather than its feathers.

The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable.

Do whatever you do intensely.

The sketch hunter moves through life as he finds it, not passing negligently the things he loves, but stopping to know them, and to note them down in the shorthand of his sketchbook.

Do not let the fact that things are not made for you, that conditions are not as they should be stop you. Go on anyway. Everything depends on those who go on anyway.

Pretend you are dancing or singing a picture. A worker or painter should enjoy his work, else the observer will not enjoy it.

Let every student enter the school with this advice. No matter how good the school is, his education is in his own hands. All education must be self education.

The light within us gives power for good actions.

Hope is the last thing ever lost.

I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesterdays are burried deep-leave it anyway except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can.

The Future, like a fruitfuller Summer, sits Ripening her Eden silently.

[On the metaphysical:] ... I knew in some marvelous way I had touched the hem of the unknown. And being me, I wanted to lift that hemline a little bit more.

Mankind is one, seeing that all are equally subject to the moral law. All men are equal in God's eyes.

It can be argued that man's instinct to gamble is the only reason he is still not a monkey up in the trees.

Destruction of the environment is not only rational; it's exactly what you're taught to do in college.

It seems to me that, with but slight reserve and modification, we may apply to our departed friend his own pathetic and beautiful elegy upon another.

Softly drops the crimson sun: Softly down from overhead, Drop the bell-notes, one by one, Melting in the melting red.