A soup like this is not the work of one man. It is the result of a constantly refined tradition. There are nearly a thousand years of history in this soup.

The dead might as well try to speak to the living as the old to the young.

I suppose there were moonless nights and dark ones with but a silver shaving and pale stars in the sky, but I remember them all as flooded with the rich indolence of a full moon.

An artist's saddest secrets are those that have to do with his artistry.

Of all the bewildering things about a new country, the absence of human landmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening.

Only a Woman, divine, could know all that a woman can suffer.

Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness.