You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!

We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.

I . . . am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.

To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.

I have an appetite for silence.

I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.