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!

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.

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.

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

Art begins when a man wishes to immortalize the most vivid moment he has ever lived.

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.

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.