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

Night, a more perfect day.

My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.

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.

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.

There is not a dream which may not come true, if we have the energy which makes, or chooses, our own fate.... It is only the dreams of those light sleepers who dream faintly that do not come true.

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