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The painter who is content with the praise of the world for what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a mechanic.
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He who has no pleasure in looking up, is not fit so much as to look down.
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In the same degree that we overrate ourselves, we shall underrate others.
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No man knows himself as an original.
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Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own littleness by elevating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look down. Of such minds are mannerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of all sorts.
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Reputation is but a synonym of popularity: dependent on suffrage, to be increased or diminished at the will of the voters.
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The most common disguise of Envy is in praise of what is subordinate.
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Fame has no necessary conjunction with praise; it may exist without the breath of a word: it is a recognition of excellence which must be felt, but need not be spoken. Even the envious must feel it: feel it, and hate in silence.
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If I prove extravagant, I shall be more so from ignorance than willfulness. I am not wholly insensible to the pleasures of the world, therefore shall not be governed entirely by necessity; but I flatter myself, at least, in being able to restrain their gratification within due bonds.
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Desert being the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one without the other.
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The Painter who seeks popularity in Art closes the door upon his own genius.