Night, a more perfect day.

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.

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

But we have been taught to see before our eyes have found out a way of seeing for themselves.

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

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