Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.

The rustling of the silk is discontinued, Dust drifts over the courtyard, There is not sound of footfall, and the leaves Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.

But the one thing you should. not do is to suppose that when something is wrong with the arts, it is wrong with the arts ONLY.

A man of genius has a right to any mode of expression.

Real education must ultimately be limited to men who insist on knowing, the rest is mere sheep-herding.

The art of letters will come to an end before A.D. 2000. I shall survive as a curiosity.

There are few things more difficult than to appraise the work of a man suddenly dead in his youth; to disentangle promise from achievement; to save him from that sentimentalizing which confuses the tragedy of the interruption with the merit of the work actually performed.