A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory.

The romantic temper, so often and so grievously misinterpreted and not more by others than by its own, is an insecure, unsatisfied, and impatient temper which sees no fit abode here for its ideals and chooses therefore to behold them under insensible figures. As a result of this choice it comes to disregard certain limitations. Its figures are blown to wild adventures, lacking the gravity of solid bodies, and the mind that has conceived them ends by disowning them.

Time is, time was, but time shall be no more.

My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.

You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.

This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.

The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.