... as usual I am suffering much from doubt as to the worth of what I am doing and fear lest I may not be able to complete it so as to make it a contribution to literature and not a mere addition to the heap of books.

In Rome it seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the world than pictures.

Poetry and art and knowledge are sacred and pure.

I have nothing to tell except travellers' stories, which are always tiresome, like the description of a play which was very exciting to those who saw it.

I think what we call the dullness of things is a disease in ourselves. Else how could anyone find an intense interest in life? And many do.

The dew-bead Gem of earth and sky begotten.

Life is very difficult. It seems right to me sometimes that we should follow our strongest feelings; but then such feelings continually come across the ties that all our former life has made for us,--the ties that have made others dependent on us,--and would cut them in two.