Michelangelo Buonarroti

As when, O lady mine! With chiselled touch The stone unhewn and cold Becomes a living mould. The more the marble wastes, The more the statue grows.

If we have been pleased with life, we should not be displeased with death, since it comes from the hand of the same master.

The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows.

I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.