Therefore Giotto and the rest began to create a fresh aspect of humanity, which, however imperfect in form, would suggest an infinite perfection.

The Greek perfection ties us down to earth, to a few forms, and the sooner, if it forbid us to go on, we reject its ideal as the only one, the better for art and for mankind.
'Tis a life-long toil till our lump be leaven-- The better! What's come to perfection perishes.
Things learned on earth, we shall practise in heaven: Works done least rapidly, Art most cherishes.
"The great Campanile is still unfinished;" so he shapes his thoughts into his scenery.

Shall man be satisfied in art with the crystallised joy of Apollo, or the petrified grief of Niobe, when there are a million more expressions of joy and grief to render?
In that way felt Giotto and his crew.

"We will paint the whole of man," they cried, "paint his new hopes and joys and pains, and never pause, because we shall never quite succeed.

We will paint the soul in all its infinite variety--bring the invisible full into play.