Glory is chiefly distributed by the emulation and the despair of men of the same craft struggling in vain to reach the perfection another has attained.

It is through Art, and through Art only, that we can realise our perfection.

Artists who seek perfection in everything are those who cannot attain it in anything.

Art knows no limit, and the artists will never achieve perfection.

An educated person's ideas of Art are drwan naturally from what Art has been, whereas the new work of art is beautiful by being what Art has never been; and to measure it by the standard of the past is to measure it by a standard on the rejection of which its real perfection depends.

In spite of all the refinements of society that conspired to make art – the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard’s canvases – beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.