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.

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.

The making of one's life into art is, after all, the first duty and privilege of every man.

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.

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

I had my dreams of Venice, but nothing that I had dreamed was as impossible as what I found.

Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses? How soft is this one, how subtle this is, How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is, As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice; How this one clings and how that uncloses From bud to flower in the way of roses.