There are mystically in our faces certain characters which carry in them the motto of our souls, wherin he that cannot read A, B, C may read our natures.

There are no grotesques in nature; not anything framed to fill up empty cantons, and unnecessary spaces.

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial; for nature is the art of God.

All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.

Rich with the spoils of nature.

All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.