Art ought never to be considered except in its relations with its ideal beauty.
But it is the province of religion, of philosophy, of pure poetry only, to go beyond life, beyond time, into eternity.
Do you know that charming part of our country which has been called the garden of France - that spot where, amid verdant plains watered by wide streams, one inhales the purest air of heaven?
Of what use were the arts if they were only the reproduction and the imitation of life?
On the day when man told the story of his life to man, history was born.
