He makes no error, and has, therefore, no impassioned desire which, flaming through the faulty picture, makes it greater art than his faultless work.

"The soul is gone from me, that vext, suddenly-impassioned, upward-rushing thing, with its play, insight, broken sorrows, sudden joys, pursuing, uncontented life.

These men reach a heaven shut out from me, though they cannot draw like me.

No praise or blame affects me.

I know my handiwork is perfect.