Green in nature is one thing, green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring them together and they tear each other to pieces.

Venerable are letters, infinitely brave, forlorn, and lost.

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

Let a man get up and say, Behold, this is the truth, and instantly I perceive a sandy cat filching a piece of fish in the background. Look, you have forgotten the cat, I say.

He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.

One must love everything.

Life without illusion is a ghostly affair.