Even extreme grief may ultimately vent itself in violence--but more generally takes the form of apathy

The ocean has the conscienceless temper of a savage autocrat spoiled by much adulation

We looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and departs forever, but in the august light of abiding memories.

It is my belief no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self knowledge.

We live as we dream - alone. While the dream disappears, the life continues painfully.

History repeats itself, but the special call of an art which has passed away is never reproduced. It is as utterly gone out of the world as the song of a destroyed wild bird.

Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.