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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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