Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term 'Art,' I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'

I have sometimes amused myself by endeavouring to fancy what would be the fate of an individual gifted, or rather accursed, with an intellect very far superior…

I have great faith in fools - self-confidence my friends will call it.

In reading some books we occupy ourselves chiefly with the thoughts of the author; in perusing others, exclusively with our own.

A new kind of poetry is created when Andy Goldsworthy works with stone, wood and water - our world never looks quite the same again ~ 'Searching for the window…

The mind that thought of light, heavy, grey, yellow, still, swift also conceived of magic that would make heavy things light and able to fly, turn grey lead in…

Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting.