Marvelous are the innocent.

They went in and out of each other's minds without any effort.

There is something about the present which we would not exchange, though we were offered a choice of all past ages to live in.

...the problem of space remained, she thought, taking up her brush again. It glared at her. The whole mass of the picture was poised upon that weight. Beautiful and bright it should be on the surface, feathery and evanescent, one colour melting into another like the colours on a butterfly's wing; but beneath the fabric must be clamped together with bolts of iron.

Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.

There is something I want-something I have come to get, and she fell deeper and deeper without knowing quite what it was, with her eyes closed.

It is useless to read Greek in translation; translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.