Traveling is seeing; it is the implicit that we travel by.
We have had, alas, and still have, the doubtful habit of reverence. Above all, we respect things as they are.
We are so placid that the smallest tremor of objection is taken as a full-scale revolution.
Two things remain irretrievable: time and a first impression.
The imagination has resources and intimations we don't even know about.
Bohemia and all its works are vanished out of America; or, more exactly, bohemia has migrated to the middle class, and is alive and well in condo and suburb.