The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man.

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

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

Hardly any one is able to see what is before him, just as it is in itself. He comes expecting one thing, he finds another thing, he sees through the veil of his preconception, he criticizes before he has apprehended, he condemns without allowing his instinct the chance of asserting itself.

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

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

Night, a more perfect day.