"It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance... and I know of no substitute whatever for the force a…" — Henry James

Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul

What would be ugly in a garden constitutes beauty in a mountain

Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been

Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed

When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age

Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art

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