A place has almost the shyness of a person, with strangers; and its secret is not to be surprised by a too direct interrogation.

Criticism is properly the rod of divination: a hazel switch for the discovery of buried treasure, not a birch twig for the castigation of offenders.

A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him.

As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain.

A place has almost the shyness of a person, with strangers; and its secret is not to be surprised by a too direct interrogation.

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

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!