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An artist who writes for himself is Narcissus staring at his own reflection. The only reason that a man hides his lamp beneath a bushel is that he fears that his lamp gives only enough light to illuminate the interior of a bushel.

All artists are servants who have been given talents. A talent buried in the ground will be taken away. A talent wisely invested will be increased. There are few sadder sights than a man gloating over the empty hole where his talent used to be hidden.



 

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