Art ought never to be considered except in its relations with its ideal beauty.
Greatness is the dream of youth realized in old age.
Of late years (perhaps as a result of our political changes) art has borrowed from history more than ever.
Invisible is real. Souls have their own world.
The human mind, I believe, cares for the True only in the general character of an epoch.
The acts of the human race on the world's stage have doubtless a coherent unity, but the meaning of the vast tragedy enacted will be visible only to the eye of God, until the end, which will reveal it perhaps to the last man.