It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north wind makes. The sea is in the falling snow.

Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.

Reality is not what it is. It consists of the many realities which it can be made into.

Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates.

You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves and repeats words without menaing.