Night, a more perfect day.
It is in their eyes that their magic resides.
A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him.
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.
My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.
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.