Night, a more perfect day.
The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man.
The mystic too full of God to speak intelligibly to the world.
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.
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.