...the Tourist Venice Is Venice.

Illiteracy At The Poverty Level (mainly A Matter Of Bad Grammar) Does Not Alarm Me Nearly As Much As The Illiteracy Of The Well-to-do.

The Furniture And Trappings In The Apartment Are All In A State Of Flux - Here Today, Gone Tomorrow. Nothing Is Anchored To Its Place, Not Even The Coffee-pot, Which Floats Off And Returns, On The Tide Of The Signora's Marine Nature.

Venice, As A City, Was A Foundling, Floating Upon The Waters Like Moses In His Basket Among The Bulrushes.

People With Bad Consciences Always Fear The Judgment Of Children.

To Care For The Quarrels Of The Past, To Identify Oneself Passionately With A Cause That Became, Politically Speaking, A Losing Cause With The Birth Of The Modern World, Is To Experience A Kind Of Straining Against Reality, A Rebellious Nonconformity That, Again, Is Rare In America, Where Children Are Instructed In The Virtues Of The System They Live Under, As Though History Had Achieved A Happy Ending In American Civics.