Never capable of disguising the sorrow that underlies all human happiness--or, as I think of it in looking at his work, the sense of transience--Botticelli, as age came upon him, was more than ever depressed.

One has the feeling that he was persuaded that only through devotion and self-negation could peace of mind be gained, and yet for himself could find none.

The sceptic was too strong in him.

Savonarola's eloquence could not make him serene, however much he may have come beneath its spell.

It but served to increase his melancholy.