A picture is a poem without words.

A picture is a poem without words.

He best can paint them who shall feel them most.

He best can paint them who shall feel them most.

From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly read more

From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with light his blended colors glow.
. . . .
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring.

The picture that approaches sculpture nearest
Is the best picture.

The picture that approaches sculpture nearest
Is the best picture.

Paint me as I am. If you leave out the scars and wrinkles, I
will not pay you a read more

Paint me as I am. If you leave out the scars and wrinkles, I
will not pay you a shilling.

Are we to paint what's on the face, what's inside the face, or what's behind it?

Are we to paint what's on the face, what's inside the face, or what's behind it?

One picture in ten thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the
applause of mankind, from generation to generation until read more

One picture in ten thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the
applause of mankind, from generation to generation until the
colors fade and blacken out of sight or the canvas rot entirely
away.

The fellow mixes blood with his colors.

The fellow mixes blood with his colors.

Well, something must be done for May,
The time is drawing nigh--
To figure in the Catalogue,
read more

Well, something must be done for May,
The time is drawing nigh--
To figure in the Catalogue,
And woo the public eye.
Something I must invent and paint;
But oh my wit is not
Like one of those kind substantives
That answer Who and What?