The artist appeals to that part of our being...which is a gift and not an acquisition - and, therefore, more permanently enduring.

It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core.

Vanity plays lurid tricks with our memory.

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.

We live as we dream - alone.

It is the mark of an inexperienced man not to believe in luck.

She feared the unknown as we all do, and her ignorance made the unknown infinitely vast.