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.

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.

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

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

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.