I consider an human soul without education like marble in the quarry, which shews none of its inherent beauties till the skill of the polisher fetches out the colours, makes the surface shine, and discovers every ornamental cloud, spot and vein that runs through the body of it.

Genius is seldom recognized for what it is: a great capacity for hard work.

A genius is not born, but is educated and trained.

Genius is supposed to be a power of producing excellencies, which are out of the reach of the rules of art; a power which no precepts can teach, and which no industry can acquire.

Genius must be born, and never can be taught.

Genius, as we tend to talk about it today, is some sort of mysterious and combustible substance that burns brightly and burns out. It's the strange gift of poets and pop stars that allows them to produce one wonderful work in their early twenties and then nothing. It is mysterious. It is there. It is gone.

Genius is not a gift, but the way a person invents in desperate circumstances.

Genius is what makes us forget the master's talent.

We don't have education, we have inspiration; if I was educated I would be a damn fool.

Genius is the aptitude for seeing invisible things, for stirring intangible things, for painting things that have no features.

Genius is nothing but youth recaptured at will.

Genius is the ability to see things invisible, to manipulate things intangible, to paint things that have no features.

Genius will live and thrive without training, but it does not the less reward the watering-pot and pruning-knife.

Natural ability without education has more often raised a man to glory and virtue than education without natural ability.