My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.

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.

Night, a more perfect day.

My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.

He knew that the whole mystery of beauty can never be comprehended by the crowd, and that while clearness is a virtue of style, perfect explicitness is not a necessary virtue.

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

It is in their eyes that their magic resides.