Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting with the gift of speech.
Go, tell the Spartans, thou who passeth by: Carrying out their orders, here we lie. (in Honor of the Spartan Defenders of Thermopylae)
If noble death be virtue’s chiefest part, We above all men are by Fortune blest, Striving with freedom’s crown to honor Greece, we died, and here in endless glory rest.
Difficult, say you? Difficult to be a man of virtue, truly good, shaped and fashioned without flaw in the perfect figure of four-squared excellence, in body and mind, in act and thought?