He knew that the whole mystery of beauty can never be comprehended by the crowd, and that while clearness is a virtue of style, perfect explicitness is not a necessary virtue.

Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me.

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.

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.

What we ask of him is, that he should find out for us more than we can find out for ourselves... He must have the passion of a lover.

I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found.

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