But we have been taught to see before our eyes have found out a way of seeing for themselves.

The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world.

Art begins when a man wishes to immortalize the most vivid moment he has ever lived.

Vaguely conscious of that great suspense in which we live, we find our escape from its sterile, annihilating reality in many dreams, in religion, passion, art.

Night, a more perfect day.

And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend!

Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is, As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice; How this one clings and how that uncloses From bud to flower in the way of roses.