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.
Night, a more perfect day.
Art begins when a man wishes to immortalize the most vivid moment he has ever lived.
But we have been taught to see before our eyes have found out a way of seeing for themselves.
And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend!