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.

Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me.

It is in their eyes that their magic resides.

My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.

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.

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.

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